Deceptions
by SilverEyesWolf
Summary: Sherlock gets an idea to put his brother off of his trail. He and Watson are going to pretend to be a couple. Eventual Sherlock/Watson Rating may go up. First fic in this section!
1. Beds and Followers

_A bit rushed in the writing but the idea was too good not to write and I really wanted to be the first person to post in this section. Enjoy._

_Warnings: Will be Sherlock/Watson _

John Watson collapsed on his bed. The last few days had been so thrilling. Meeting Sherlock Holmes, moving in with him, even solving the case of a serial killer. If this was the kind of life he leads then John couldn't wait to see what happened next. For the first time since he'd been shot he didn't miss being in the army and at war. He might have been in London but Sherlock brought a battle field he lived and offered it up to the Doctor.

Sure the man was crazy, insane, pompous and in his own words a high level sociopath but he could see them having a marvellous time together. It'd be filled with chaos, if the state of their shared flat was anything to go by at least, but he was sure he'd not be bored.

Yawning and changing hanging into his usual sleeping clothes, he headed off for a piss before bed his mind filled with grand adventures. Only to be brought crashing back down to reality when he returned to his room.

There sat in the middle of his double bed-a luxury after what he'd had in Afghanistan-was the main character of his thoughts, one Sherlock Holmes.

"They broke my bed in the drugs raid. Must have been malicious although after my experiment with the saw it was only a matter of time."

Apprehension crawled up his spine as he looked nervously at his new flatmate.

"Don't look at me like that. The bed is big enough for two, so we can share."

He felt himself spluttering. People were already making assumptions that they were dating. It was just going to get worse if anyone found out about this. Even his sister, alcoholic as she was, was hinting at things.

During the next half an hour one John Watson discovered that you can't argue with Sherlock Holmes and win.

ooo

For once John wasn't woken by the sudden on coming off sunlight, which was probably a good thing considering the time of night he had finally gotten to sleep. Instead it was the rather oppressive weight that seemed to have latched onto him.

It had been a while since he'd shared a bed with anyone; having been away in the army wasn't exactly good for a relationship not that he'd been in one anyway before he'd signed up. Neither were the long hours required of a medical student. So it took him a while to work out what the weight actually was. The fact that it was snoring rather nosily in his ear helped a little.

Sherlock Holmes, his brand new only known for two days flatmate had won their argument the night before and was currently laying on his chest with arms and legs thrown over him in a way that made the doctor suspect he was actually sleeping more on him than the actual bed.

It appeared that his unique house mate was rather possessive and touchy feely in bed. He'd even say rather limpet like if the current embrace was anything to go by. He also didn't appear to be waking up.

After a couple of attempts to free himself from the death embrace a rather sadistic vicious part of himself that was developed from being a younger brother surfaced. As the youngest you ight have been the most believed by parents but as soon as they were out of the room you were on your own and it was survival of the fittest.

Using a move taught to him rather painfully by Harry when he was on the receiving end of it, John swung his body round and sent them both tumbling towards the ground. He couldn't help but smirk as he got up from the detective, having used him as cushioning and leaving the man groaning in a pile on the floor.

This was the start of a wonderful morning routine.

By the time he got out of the shower he found Sherlock dressed in an immaculate suit but looking rather dazed in the kitchen area with a rather smug Mrs Hudson glancing between the two of them. Damn. This had been exactly why he'd refused and she was just going to be more intolerable now about them being a couple.

He had to admit that the detective wasn't bad looking. In fact hidden under that coat he seemed to wear a lot and the jackets he was actually quite muscular, although nothing near body builder level. Just one of the facts he'd discovered the night before, like the fact that his flatmate slept topless.

Sighing and noting that they were out of milk, he grabbed his coat and shouted to them that he'd be back in a minute. He heard Sherlock mumble about getting something else but was out the door before he could make himself heard.

ooo

While he was sure that a normal civilian wouldn't have noticed it John was an army doctor and one that had only recently retired from active service so as he walked back to the flat from one of the local corner shops he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched.

The sense of danger that he'd only gotten back the night before after months of absence from the battle fields was flaking up again just as strong as ever. There was someone or some ones watching him. He'd just have to bide his time to catch them in the act.

ooo

Later while they were heading out for dinner he felt it again. While he'd rather that they stay in the flat one of Sherlock's experiments had gone rather wrong and they were going to need a new microwave-and clean up the remains of eyes currently plastering the working surfaces. They'd both taken one look and both agreed that they should eat out.

As they headed towards a small Indian that the detective knew he spotted their tail. He really couldn't have been more out of place with a black suit and sunglasses when it was January and already nearly dark. Very obvious. At least he'd be easy to spot.

He spent most of the meal keeping an eye on their watcher. A meal in which the waiter, someone Sherlock had again gotten off of charges, thought that they were a couple. He was beginning to suspect that this would be the same for every restaurant he was introduced to. At least their tail, stuck in an alley opposite while they ate wasn't having a good time, he felt a little happier at that.

Again as they left to head back to Baker Street the man was following. Perhaps he should ask his partner. He had a feeling that it had something to do with Sherlock. Everything seemed to have something to do with Sherlock.

ooo

"Someone has been following us."

Sherlock just raised his eyebrow looking mildly surprised but not at all concerned. "You noticed him too. He was rather obvious, didn't blend in unless it was the financial sector."

John felt annoyance that that was all the detective was worried about. "He was following us. Aren't you in the littlest bit concerned?"

"It's just one of Mycroft's men. They've upped my watch status again, possibly yours as well. Nothing to worry about, they're just a little annoying."

"Let me get this straight...your brother has people following us." The happy grin that spread across Sherlock's face was almost enough to make him hit the man.

"Yep. Now I'll have a cup of tea."

John despaired as he headed off into the kitchen. Life was never boring with the detective. Now they even had MI whatever following them around and spying on the pair of them.

"Doesn't it get annoying though." Sherlock nodded as he accepted the tea. "But he'll get bored after a while. It's not like there's anything embarrassing for him to find."

The sudden light that filled the man's eyes made John want to shiver. Why did he feel like he was going to hate whatever was currently going on in the detective's head. He watched as the man sprinted to the door, stopping just in the door way bellowing down the stairs. "Mrs Hudson."

"My brother is going to kidnap you sometime soon to get you to spy on me. Agree and we'll cut the fee." There was another sound which he presumed was an affirmative if the skipping man that landed on the chair was anything to go by.

"We are going to mentally disturb Mycroft."

John narrowed his eyes. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"Isn't it obvious. We're going to pretend to be a couple and traumatise him with our apparent sexual acts."

"What?"

For the first time Sherlock's thought process wasn't brilliant. In fact one John Watson was wondering if it really was too late to find another flat mate.

_What do you think?_


	2. Presents and Damsels in Distress

_I'm back. A little later than expected after repeatedly being surgically detached from my laptop. Although for anyone interested in muscle cars I highly recommend the event at Santa Pod, great fun. _

_I have huge thanks to all my lovely gorgeous reviewers. I never expected to have so many. And to __Inwitari Turelie who emailed ff about getting this section started. This chapter is dedicated to you. _

_Finally because I forgot to do it last time the disclaimer for the story goes: Don't own Sherlock, no matter how much I would love to it isn't happening. *sobs*_

Despite rather loud and passionate protests and arguments about how this was a rather bad idea John found himself dragged along. Perhaps it really wasn't too late to find a new flat mate. All Sherlock seemed to have done so far was make outlandish demands, blow up the kitchen multiple times, steal the duvet and sleep on him.

Although he had to admit that without it all his life would be rather boring. He was even getting used to just nodding when someone made an assumption that they were a couple. Sherlock seemed to find this very amusing even after a week of it happening. Apparently he was pleased that the plan was progressing, even if it did currently only consist of sharing a bed.

They even had a new rather large income from Mrs Hudson. Their landlady had agreed to spy on them, yes them and not just Sherlock (it appeared he had attracted a bit of attention). She got fifty percent of the amount and her two lodgers split the other half of it. She was even running through what she was going to pass on with them, it was all rather like a game. Sherlock had been quick to include the part about their budding relationship.

Mornings were still something he couldn't quite get used to, although at least the detective didn't wake him when he slunk into bed at some ungodly hour of the morning. He had decided finally that he was just acting as a huge breathing living teddy bear for a man that was nothing more than a child inside. A rather strange child with strange experiments, lots of mess and odd knowledge gaps. Seriously who over the age of ten didn't know the earth went around the sun and the man appeared to genuinely just not care.

"Where is my hair brush?"

He'd decided that acting as Sherlock's assistant was a job made up of either saving his arse from doing something stupid, chasing after him or finding the latest thing that he had lost. They'd lived there a week and it was already a tip, the kitchen was just a biohazard with all the chemicals and body parts lying about.

"Haven't seen it in days. Use mine."

The odd pause made him slightly suspicious. "I have been. Yours has gone missing too." Well, this was the man that insisted on sharing his bed and pretend to be in a relationship with him so he should expect no less.

"I'm going into town for some food later. I'll pick one up. You can tidy the kitchen."

He knew better than to expect a reply to that. The news had just started with a double murder headlining. It might keep the detective entertained but he wouldn't be doing anything useful for at least half an hour. Longer if the news was especially interesting.

With a sigh he headed out the door wishing Mrs Hudson a good morning.

ooo

John crashed through the door and up to his joint flat, phone still in hand and shopping bags flying behind him. His latest text from his house mate had better be important. He'd run all the way back from the mini mart and was not happy.

He was so exhausted it took him a minute to realise there was someone else there. Sat in his usual chair was a young pretty looking girl. It wasn't that that caught his attention but the ugly hand shaped bruise on her shoulders and the arm she was cradling.

"This your boyfriend then? The one that'll patch me up?"

The girl's speech was rather different from what her looks in short skirt and tank top suggested. Much rougher than he'd thought. There was a voice coming from the bathroom. "You're back John."

He appeared a few minutes later with an overly stuffed messenger bank and a set of files. "This is Jane. She's your first patient."

He wasn't really sure what to say. He was especially startled when Sherlock gave him a quick, almost hesitant, peck on the cheek. "I knew you'd get bored so I started up a private clinic in your name. Mycroft rushed it through and I've been arranging for patients."

Not for the first time he was made speechless by the detective. His own practice was something he'd vaguely dreamed about when he left the army he'd never thought it would happen.

"What about your investigations. I'll be tied to a timetable, have to keep regular hours."

His partner just grinned. "Not these patients. All needing medical treatment but unable to go to a hospital. I know you have morals so I've stuck to minor criminals."

The girl seemed to be finding this entire discussion highly amusing. "You're sweet as a couple. Never thought I'd see the day someone tied Sherlock down."

John turned back to the girl. He'd have to talk to the detective later but he couldn't deny that the girl was in need of medical attention. "Is it your arm that's worse? Is it swollen?"

She nodded, gingerly holding it out for him to examine. He could see instantly from the swelling and slight misalignment of bone that it was broken. "You could really do with a hospital."

The frightened almost frantic look in her eyes scared him a bit. It was Sherlock that cut in. "Jane is part of a rather discreet night time industry and would rather authorities weren't involved."

He must have looked confused because the girl felt the need to clarify. "I'm a prostitute is what he's trying not to say. Client was a bit rough and reluctant to pay." She seemed surprisingly cheery for someone who'd been attacked.

"I'll need to get you to an x-ray machine, and then I'll set your arm. I'd need some painkillers as well to give you."

His flatmate just patted him on the back being uncharacteristically touchy feely. "That's all sorted. I don't use my room so I've turned it in to a surgery. Everything you should need is there and I'll arrange for anything you find missing to be brought."

He fought the urge to smile. "Well we better get on then. This way Jane."

ooo

Later after he'd patched up Jane and sent her on her way. She'd been quite chatty and was going to recommend him to both her customers and colleges who lived slightly shady lives which left them with little option of health care.

"Why did you do this? Start the clinic. It's all legal isn't it? And where did all that stuff come from? There's most of a pharmacy in your room."

The detective grinned at him as he bounced around the living room. "I thought it would be obvious. You needed a job, you'll get bored doing nothing in between cases. Those that can pay will pay and those that can't will provide favours and information. It's surprising how many free meals you'll make."

John was rather startled. For a sociopath Sherlock was being rather considerate. "That and of course it'll help spread our contact so we'll be able to solve cases faster. You won't be tied down to a timetable so you can always accompany me." That sounded much more like Sherlock. "Plus it keeps up the image of our relationship?"

"Relationship? What are you talking about?"

The man looked rather perplexed. "It's Valentine's Day. Lovers usually exchange gifts, don't they?"

He blinked. Sherlock had given him a clinic...for Valentine 's Day. From the man's uncertainty he'd obviously never done this before, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever even had a partner fake or otherwise before.

In the end he nodded. "Although it is usually just chocolates instead of a clinic. Much more useful though. I'd forgotten about it, haven't gotten you anything."

Sherlock seemed to think for a minute. "How about you don't wake me up in the savage way you've come accustomed to tomorrow and I can play my violin when I'm thinking."

John nodded. That sounded rather reasonable, for once.

ooo

In the end it didn't quite work out like that. John may not have woken Sherlock up in his usual manner but with yells half an hour later after he'd attempted to make toast and discovered cocaine hidden in the toaster slots.

He also ended up regretting the violin after a few too many early morning recitals. But the clinic was going well.

_What do you think? I'll attempt to tie in the second episode with my next chapter. Obviously there will be alterations made to get it to fit but I hope you'll enjoy. _

_Bit of a random question but where do you think Sherlock hides his drugs?_


	3. Blind Banker Part 1

_The first part of my re-write of the Blind Banker. The next bit should be up soon but it's getting so long that I've had to split it into parts. Still enjoy. _

"If you want to be convincing we really should do more things couples do."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "We do want to make it more convincing. Currently all Mycroft's minions have seen us do is pop into cupboards and toilets and come out looking ruffled. Bit repetitive."

John could barely suppress the smirk that was battling its way onto his face. "Get your coat I have the perfect activity."

"Sure." For someone with such a large IQ he really was oblivious. The detective was following him with a bounce in his step, not even aware of the types of activities couples do. It took to the doors of the nearest supermarket for it to dawn on Sherlock's face.

"I am not stepping into that hell hole."

He grinned, suppressing laughter which wasn't helped by the fact that there follower appeared to giggling at them. At least Mycroft had switched to people that blended in better after the first few days, even if the two of them could still pick them out of the crowd. "You said that you wanted to act more like a couple. Couples go grocery shopping."

"I'm not doing it." Sherlock was obviously channelling his not so inner child at that moment, especially with the slight stamp of the foot. They were even creating a bit of a scene; something he was increasingly used to having spent nearly a month in the other mans company.

It also meant he was working out all the little things that allowed him to get his own way...sometimes at least. "Mycroft might work it out."

The detective didn't deem him worthy of an answer after such a blatant display of manipulation, instead turning on his heel and marching into the store.

Unfortunately it was quickly becoming apparent as to why Sherlock never did the shopping. While he was fine in the quieter aisles as they got ready for paying and were in the busy sections of the store that it became alarmingly blatant.

As soon as someone stood behind them in the queue he felt something grip his lower arm. Turning he'd thought it was an old lady or something only to be faced with a rather pale sweaty Sherlock. All words of concern were brushed off with a glare, admittedly not at its normal strength but still formidable.

If it wasn't for the tightening of the detectives grip on his arm he wouldn't have realised anything was wrong as they were surrounded by more and more people. It wasn't till they were at the front of the queue at one of those stupid new self-service checkouts that he started to properly worry.

Sherlock was pale, sweating and practically hyperventilating. He'd say the detective was on the verge of a panic attack. It took him all of two seconds to abandon the shopping and drag his partner out of the shop promising to never make him go to crowded places again.

As soon as they were out of the crowds he seemed to recover rather quickly, explaining that being in crowded places over whelmed his senses making him panicky. By the time they got back to the flat, no shopping but a sword wielding maniac to greet them Sherlock was back to normal. They even arranged to have a bond movie night after Sherlock admitted he had never seen them. Sherlock of course turned down the case of the diamond, after all they didn't want any more swordsmen in the house and he certainly seemed to be related to it.

It was probably a good thing as the following a university acquaintance brought a rather interesting case to Sherlock's attention.

ooo

"Sebastian, this is Dr John Watson my partner."

The man smiled politely. "Glad to see that he's found someone who can work with him. He never managed to keep a project partner for long at university."

He could see the amusement in Sherlock's eyes as he slid an arm around his waist in a rather intimate gesture. "You misunderstand. We're _partners_."

Admittedly the look of absolute shock on the man's face was well worth the slight discomfort he felt at their intimacy in public. He was getting used to a rather sudden increase in the detectives in the touchy feely department but it'd always been in the flat so far. He supposed he'd just have to get used to it.

"That's rather surprising...we never thought you were interested in people."

The smile on Sherlock's face was one John was quickly realising was reserved for those that he disliked but was going to use, even if it was for something as simple as to stave off his boredom. "And we never thought you'd be successful enough to fly round the world twice in a month."

Sebastian just laughed obviously missing the barely veiled barb. "You're doing that thing again, that trick."

"It's not a trick."

"Everyone hated him for it of course. You'd come down in the morning and this freak could tell who you'd shagged. Not that he needs to tell with you."

He had to admit that he hated the man at the moment especially that leer that was sent his way. Sherlock might have been a sociopath but he had emotions no matter how shallow and well hidden they were. "It's observations."

There was a slight widening of Sherlock's eyes and his lips tilted a bit. Sebastian wasn't happy to leave it though. "What is it this time then?"

"Your watch is set two days ago, indicating crossing the International Date Line twice and that model of watch is only a month old." He seemed to think for a second before adding in his direction. "I hate that particular brand. Mycroft always seems to be wearing it."

John grinned. "Brilliant."

There was the slight quirk of his partner's lips again. "You're talking out loud again."

There was an awkward silence before Sebastian slapped his hands together. "Any way, I'm glad you came. We've had a break in. You'll be paid of course."

He could pre-empt his partner's next words and reached over to block his mouth with an innocent smile. "If you could make it out in Sherlock's name?"

As he took the cheque in hand and tucked it away a hushed argument about not needing money and the cost of the scanner he wanted commenced.

ooo

"What were you doing in the office, between the pillars?"

The detective was bouncing out the doors looking rather triumphant. "I was working out who it was meant for. You got the pictures?"

"Yes and how?" He sometimes wished Sherlock would elaborate a bit more. Although the times he did it was usually switched round to wishing he'd be a little less blunt.

"The columns John what did they do?"

"Blocked the view...so you can't see all of the office...so it can only be seen from a certain place."

The grin that flashed his way was enough to prove him right. "You're learning. Now to work out the message!" The chaste kiss on the cheek another reassurance, unexpected but not unwelcome.

ooo

The sickly friendly voice Sherlock was putting on was so unlike the real man that it both amazed and disgusted him. The theatre had lost out on a brilliant actor the day Sherlock decided to be a detective. He'd never seen Sherlock act like that to him he was always himself.

As he was let into the flat, watching as Sherlock sniffed around having vaulted down from the floor above, he couldn't help but be glad. This eccentricity suited the man a lot more than the mundane character he had been acting.

He glanced into the bathroom before providing a hand in kicking down a locked door. He couldn't even bring himself to be overly surprised when they found a body inside. Over the last month he'd found that trouble and danger needed only to skim into the edges of his perception and Sherlock would be chasing after them.

The next half an hour was a bit of chaos as they called in the police. Sherlock of course went through everything he needed to before they arrived, something about their idiocy distracting his brain waves.

There was a black paper lotus in the man's mouth. His suitcase had had something wrapped up within his clothes. He was left handed and the bullet entry wound was on the right.

Not a suicide as the police believed when they arrived. Admittedly though they didn't have a brilliant flatmate and 'boyfriend' to prompt them along so it was only to be expected.

He decided to leave the detective to play with the new DI Dimmock who'd been assigned to the case. Apparently Lestrade was busy with the serial double murder cases that had been highlighting the news recently. It wouldn't be long until they were called in to deal with them. Still there was something to play with for the moment.

The DI obviously hadn't met Sherlock before from the looks of confusion he was displaying. He seemed distinctly doubtful about it being a suicide, especially about the prediction of the ballistics report.

He supposed the police force limited those that came into contact with his partner. After all it would do little for force moral if they were constantly being belittled and proven wrong. Dimmock would catch on, eventually.

ooo

John's hatred of Sebastian just continued to grow and grow. Sure they'd cut in on lunch but the man had been so dismissive...oh god. He was gaining the social graces of a sociopath. Harry would never let him live it down; he was the polite one in the family.

It wasn't only that though. It was the fake grief about the man dying. He'd known nothing about him having only been concerned with the victim's ability to make money. At least when Sherlock was uncaring he didn't fake that he was.

The final thing that clinched it was the phrase. "I hired you to do a job. Don't get side tracked." He almost wished that Sebastian was the one responsible. There was another man he wouldn't be overly bothered about putting a bullet in.

Shame he was much too stupid, even if he did appear to have the temperament.

_Next part will be up soon. _


	4. Blind Banker Part 2

_The second part and still not done. This episode re-write is a lot longer than I anticipated. Thanks again for the reviews. I adore the people who are writing them._

The doorbell ringing was a bit of a surprise. Normally when someone wanted them they either texted before hand or just barged in, more often than not with some type of weapon in a crazed attempt to kill them. So he was rather surprised when he saw a youngish woman at their doorstep with nothing that could be used to injure either of them in sight.

"Sherlock Holmes?" He was about to correct her when she just carried on looking rather flustered. "I'm Sarah from the surgery down the road, I wondered if I could talk to your flatmate, the Dr Watson?"

Well that was a surprise. As he waved her in he noted a man of Chinese descent taking a photo of them. Mycroft really was a nosey bugger.

"John, I asked for a pen?"

He blinked. He couldn't remember that. "When?"

"About five minutes ago. Why is there a woman in our flat?"

He didn't even blink as lobbed a pen at him instead catching it without turning his stare away from Sarah. He was probably creeping her out.

"She is here to ask me something. We'll be in the bedroom."

She looked rather confused. "You're Dr Watson?" That would be it. He supposed he wasn't very clear at the door. As he led her into his clinic room her eyes widened with amazement. "This is the bedroom?"

He nodded. "Sherlock kitted it up for me. Been a bit quiet recently but we've been busy so that's good. What did you want to talk about?"

"Well we've got two doctors on holiday next week and a nurse going on maternity leave. My friend had heard of you running a clinic but I couldn't find any details about it, just your flatmate's website."

She seemed rather nervous when she was talking to him, all smilely and practically blushing. It was strange.

"We were wondering if you could either work at our surgery for the week or take some of our patients on temporarily."

She seemed very nice but he'd have to turn her down. "I'm afraid my patients require a certain level of discretion." That was putting it lightly. Most of them came to him to patch them up when they'd gotten injured by clients or in the middle of some type of crime. "I don't exactly keep normal hours either so helping would be difficult." Again an understatement. Between Sherlock and patients he hadn't had a normal sleeping pattern in the past month.

"Ow." She seemed rather disappointed.

"I can ask some of my patients if they think anyone is suitable, that may help but I can't promise anything."

He smiled as he lead her to the door something she seemed rather reluctant to do. Just as she was about to leave she turned to him suddenly decisive. "Would you like to go out for a drink tonight?"

He frowned, why was she asking that? "Sorry, I think Sherlock has something planned."

Her face fell as she quickly turned and almost ran out the door. Very strange. Sherlock however didn't find it strange at all. "She was flirting with you?"

That was a surprise. "Flirting...?"

Ow dear god. All it took was a month of pretending to be dating Sherlock and he could no longer tell when a woman was flirting with him. His life was over. Harry could never find out or he'd never hear the end of it.

"Anyway. I've found us another body. Off to Scotland Yard."

This man ruined any chance he had of getting an actual date and now he was finding bodies. Well at least he wasn't boring.

ooo

Later as they walked past the national gallery he couldn't believe his ears. Sherlock Holmes needed help. The man who worked out that the killer could climb and scale buildings. Who could work out your life history from a glance needed help? And from come hoodie who was doing graffiti on a wall. Good graffiti admittedly but graffiti none the less.

It took him a minute to recognise him. "Dennis, right. You came in with Matt when he broke his ankle 'skateboarding'."

Sherlock raised an eyed brow at him. "Do you recognise this tag?"

Dennis seemed to think it over for a minute. "Recognise the paint. Dark Michigan. Hard core propellant. I'd say zinc. That another language?"

"Two men have been killed and deciphering it is the key. You going to help us?"

The boy seemed rather blasé. "This all you got to go by? I'll ask around."

Sherlock was about to say something else why a cry of "Oy!" Cut through the air. The community support officer was there. The youth started running shouting over his shoulder. "Come on then Doctor. Don't want to get blamed do you?"

He had a point. Grabbing the bag he legged it off after Dennis and his supposed caring partner, who was going to leave him there to take the rap. About a mile later he caught up with the two of them having only just shaken their pursuer off.

"Thanks for that Dennis. Any time you need medical help it's on the house." The boy nodded and headed off. At least he'd narrowly avoided getting arrested or something more extreme, like and ASBO. He'd have never lived it down.

ooo

He noticed the Chinese photographer following him again as he followed the journalist movements on the day he died through his diary. Odd. It was a different person but they'd been one at Baker Street as well as he left the flat. Then again as he got the diary off of Dimmock, who seemed to be rather accepting of Sherlock. He was used to hearing a lot worse than arrogant sod, Lestrade must have given him a thorough warning.

He was keeping an eye on them when he bumped into Sherlock. Not that he could get a word in edge ways once the man started talking at him. It wasn't till he grabbed the man by the ear, manuvering the six foot something struggling complaining gangly detective to face the right way. "He went in that shop. Over there. It says in the diary."

As he let go all he got was a surprised ow before the detective was off again, dashing across a busy street in front of cars and straight into China Town ad straight into the shop. Perhaps the man's obsession with running came from a bit too much Doctor Who in his youth.

"Would you like a lucky cat? Good for girlfriend."

John couldn't help but snort. Sherlock had enough junk already he did not need to be adding to it. As he looked over some nice tea cups, something they might well need the rate they were getting through mugs at the moment, when he noticed the numbers on the bottom.

"Sherlock. It's the code."

He seemed rather amazed. "It's not shapes but numbers. Ancient Chinese numbers."

As they sat opposite eating, well he was eating, and discussing the case he noticed more watchers. They blended in better here but still it was creepy. Couldn't Mycroft settle with the security cameras.

They were smugglers! He could barely believe it. Smuggling from China back to London and then something had gone wrong. They'd been killed because one of them had stolen something and those they were working for didn't know who.

Not that he once again actually got to finish his meal. The moment Sherlock noticed that the flat above the drop off had been empty for a couple of days he was round the back breaking and entering.

This time he decided not to wait to be let in, it was less suspicious than last time so he clambered through the window after his partner. It was probably a good thing too as someone was strangling Sherlock. It took him only a second to grab a vase and hit the man. By the time he'd checked that Sherlock was okay the man was gone.

And Sherlock was off again. This time to the National Antiquities Museum.

ooo

As they left the Museum, another death threat having been found, Dennis caught up with them. "Found something you'll like."

He had to admit that the underground skate area they were taken too looked promising. There was enough graffiti for it to blend in, something the writer would have wanted but it was still public. Unfortunately it meant his partner wanted more evidence...and it was cold.

Sure, they'd go out in the cold...at night...in March. Someone had a wool coat and scarf. He didn't have a thin jacket and intolerance to the cold built up from just having gotten back from Afghanistan. Inconsiderate git.

Then when he finally finds something someone covers it up so he doesn't wait to hear about the photo John had taken. No he grabs his face, spinning him around and telling him to remember. This had got to be pay back for grabbing his ear earlier.

As he thrust the photo at the man, making him release him he gave a sigh of relief. That'd keep him occupied for a while. If they weren't about to be run over by a train. "Sherlock! Move!"

Why did this happen to him.

ooo

Now if only he could get some sleep. Sure he'd had a rather odd sleep pattern but he did actually get some sleep, even if rather stunted and generally involving his role as a human teddy bear.

"Numbers...come in partners."

"I need to sleep."

"Painted in the open by the tracks...people go past every day."

"Just come to bed." It wasn't like he was being listened to. He was there to be talked at; perhaps he should just go to bed. Maybe he should get the skull back so it could take his place.

"He's trying to get a message to his operatives. We can't solve this without Soo Lin Yao."

Sherlock was walking out the door. He was going out again. Away from their lovely soft warm bed. Perhaps he should just stay. The shout of "Danger" up the stairs had him on his feet and following. Seriously the man knew him too well.

He did decide as cold air hit his face that he would not be happy about this adventure. Doubly so when they were back in the museum. The boy didn't know anything about where she was but Sherlock noticed the teapots had been looked after.

She was there in the museum hidden and coming out at night. That was another sleepless night then. He should really point out that it wasn't healthy to stay conscious for so long. But he knew there was no real point, he'd be ignored and probably have nicotine patched slapped on him. Still at least he got a bit of a nap while waiting for night fall.

Later when they were talking to Soo Lin he was rather glad for the nap. International crime syndicates were something you did not discuss when severely sleep deprived although Sherlock seemed to be handling it nicely.

They had a way to identify members, so they could prove the two victims were members of the Black Lotus. It was the girl though. She was so scared, they need to get her to a safe place away from the assassin, away from her brother.

When the lights went out I could see on Sherlock's face that he expected this. When he'd come to speak with her he knew that her brother was likely to be following and he knew that he was putting the girl at risk. And he'd done it anyway.

As John watched him tear out of the room heading in towards where he thought the assassin was he felt his priorities split in half. He knew he should hide Soo Lin away. They'd put her in danger and they should protect her but his need to make sure Sherlock was safe almost overwhelmed it.

Not wanting to think anymore he led her back to where she'd been hiding. There were gun shots and he knew he should stay and protect this defenceless girl but his instint to make sure that Sherlock was save was so much stronger, overwhelming anything else he thought or felt.

"Bolt the door behind me." Were his last words to her as he ran off to find his partner. He had better not have gotten himself shot or he'd never forgive the sociopath.

Relief hit him as an actual physical force as he saw Sherlock was okay. He was fine and standing in a room of skulls. A rather morbid part of him almost laughed at this. The man really did seem to have a thing for skulls.

CRACK

It was the sound of gunshot cutting through the air. The air seemed to become so thick as he ran back towards where he'd left Soo Lin. She was there lying on the ground in her own blood, a black lotus sat innocently in her hand.

He felt cold as he looked down on her lifeless corpse. He'd done it again. He'd had the choice between two people and he'd chosen to save Sherlock and let the other person die.

_Bit of a depressing end to this chapter. The next one should be up in a day or so. It'll depend if I actually sleep tonight or not. _

_For later reference who is everyone's least favourite character from the series?_


	5. Blind Banker Part 3

_This is a lot longer than I thought. Part three already and it's not even done. Any way enjoy. _

As John watched Sherlock flirt with Molly to get them in to see the bodies he couldn't help but sneer. The man was so good at manipulating people. For someone who didn't care for others and had very shallow emotions he knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted, although he supposed that was all essentially what a sociopath was.

It was actually rather disgusting to watch the way that she gave in so easily. It was obvious that he wasn't interested. He even had a boyfriend, while admittedly kept relatively quiet and fake. He didn't know why he felt like this. It was like he was almost possessive of Sherlock. Molly was a nice girl but she needed to get over her crush and fast.

By the time they'd convinced Dimmock and gotten back to the flat another night was at least half way through with no sleep. As they went through all of the Chinese antiques being sold by anonymous they could see a pattern.

John had to admit that after all the rushing around in the past day or so it was rather nice to go through it all with the detective. It was nice being close to him, spending time with him when no one else was about. Now if only he could persuade the man to come to bed.

When Mrs Hudson came in saying that the police were there with the books he realised that it wasn't going to happen for a day or so. That feeling got stronger when he saw how many crates there actually were. They'd be spending the rest of the night going through these.

As it turned out he was absolutely right. Having spent the entire night sorting through the books to see which ones they both owned not only had they found nothing but there was a knock on the door.

The underworld had been busy while they were working and he had patients to see. One broken collar bone, a sprained ankle and a rather nasty head wound. Was someone trying to punish him. Perhaps it was time to take Jane's offer up for her to act as a nurse for him when needed.

She'd only turned to prostitution when a false sexual harassment charge from an underage patient who'd been turned down when he'd tried to chat her up had left her job less and in a difficult situation for getting another job. While a little out of practice when she was done for the night she could help him out.

In fact he'd do it now. A short conversation later he was stitching up the head wound as she handled the sprained ankle. She was pleasant to work with and as she plastered the broken arm up after he'd set it, she didn't comment as he almost fell asleep listening to Sherlock's mumblings from the next room.

She just patted him on the back as she left mumbling something about that being payment for the last time she was in. He'd have to work out a proper way to pay her when she was needed, while they were happy to accept food as way of payments he wasn't sure if she was. He'd discuss it next time she was in.

"I need some air. We're going to go out tonight."

That was a bit of a surprise. It had been a while since Sherlock had taken him on one of their fake dates and never in the middle of a case. He was rather suspicious. "Where are we going?"

"The circus. In London for one night only."

Still suspicious. "This wouldn't happen to be a Chinese circus would it?"

Sherlock grinned at him. "Exactly. I'll go book the tickets."

He couldn't help but sigh.

ooo

He sighed as he picked up the tickets. "Two tickets reserved under the name Holmes." The man couldn't even be on time to pick up tickets. Crap boyfriend he would be if their relationship was real.

"There you are sir."

As he took them a voice called out from behind him. "Dr Watson! Fancy seeing you here." He had to admit that he was surprised to see the doctor Sarah something from what earlier that day, or was it the day before stood there.

"Are you here on a date?"

He knew she was prying to see if he was dating anyone. He wanted to say no that he was free but then there was Sherlock. He couldn't bring himself to do that to the man.

"There you are." Sherlock came up behind him. "Sarah, wasn't it from the other day."

She nodded. "Are you to here together?"

They both nodded, leading her into the main area for the show. The audience was quite small, probably from so few people having heard about it. They certainly didn't advertise well, but that was probably purposeful.

"I love the circus. Haven't been since I was a little girl. When I saw the advert I simply couldn't resist. What about you?"

She was looking up to her expectantly and babbling about just about everything. He'd come so used to his partner's logical deductions or silences that he actually found that small talk was rather annoying.

"It seemed...interesting. More art than a circus." Obviously she didn't take the hint at his disinterest as she carried on not shutting up till the signal for the start of the show began.

He had to admit that the crossbow was rather impressive. Plus as the 'warrior' was tied into place it certainly shut Sarah up completely. Sherlock whispering how it was done in his ear before the act left him unsurprised but it was very impressive to see.

Impressive as it was however there was one rather worrying thing throughout the performance. Sherlock had vanished leaving him with Sarah. While him being abandoned wasn't unusual it usually meant that there was going to be trouble and most likely fighting.

The bird spider started their silks performance just before the back curtain started to move. That had better not be who he thought it was.

As Sherlock fell backwards through the curtain, sword wielding maniac right behind him John swore startling Sarah. "One week, Sherlock is all I ask. Can we not go one week without some blade wielding nutter trying to cut you into bits?"

As he joined the fight he heard the cry of "John but you'd get bored" over the din. Luckily for the man in question he was too preoccupied to reply.

He would probably have the fact that ramming the sword wielding maniac wasn't the best idea in the world pointed out to him later but for now stopping Sherlock getting chopped up was a good enough reason.

The fact that the sword was then pointed in his direction and that Sarah was trying to hit the man with the cross bow bolt. He kicked the man's legs out from under him sending him tumbling to the floor, his partner snatching the bolt off of Sarah and striking their assailants temple rendering him unconscious.

John felt a grin spread across his lips as he shared a look at each other. Grabbing either of Sarah's hands they dragged her out and back to Baker Street. Annoying as she was, an international crime syndicate had seen her with them and they could hardly leave her there to die.

ooo

John was distinctly unimpressed by the crowd of four queued outside the flat on the landing. Sherlock just swept past them having gotten rather used to it. Sarah looked confused.

"Conditions?"

There were two replies, at least it wasn't as bad as he thought just a slashed leg and dislocated shoulder. He led them through to the bedroom leaving their hangers on to wait on the landing. As he walked past to fill the kettle up and get some blood bags from the fridge.

Sarah was stood watching Sherlock looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I'll be off then."

His partner may have been fine leaving her to her fate but he had a bit of a conscious. "You can take the dislocated shoulder." Plus it cut his work load in half.

She seemed fine with that, smiling a lot and fluttering her eye lashes. Although that started to slip as he left her with an ASBO holding street racing mechanic who had probably dislocated his shoulder doing some highly illegal high speed stunt.

"I was belting through this snotty posh village a way down the A40. Nearly lost it at the roundabout. Went round it right fast, it was wicked. There's this police car behind. Even kids by the kebab van were laughing. Nissan. Never gonna catch up. It was brill!"

Definitely something illegal. As it was he had a house breaker who had had a run in with a spiked gate. He probably wasn't helping the police arrest rates with the advise he was giving petty criminals. "Next time take a jacket to lay over the fence, something thick, and climb over that. It'll stop you getting cut."

Having finished up he waved both of them out. They'd come back with the payments when they had it. Sarah looked rather disturbed. "Are these your usual clientele?"

He smiled at her and rolled his eyes. "Yep. Those two are constantly coming round." "They didn't pay. I thought this was a private clinic?" "They will. They'll bring some food or whatever round in a day or so." She looked rather confused but seemed to ignore it.

"Want some food?"

She nodded and he headed into the kitchen popping the kettle on so Sherlock could have his shot of caffeine. "This is what you do then. You solve puzzles for a living." Did she have to try to make small talk? And with Sherlock at that.

"Consulting detective." "Ow."

Human hand out of the microwave, pasta in. Good pasta at that. They might not have been able to cook but some of his clients had mothers who were extraordinary in the kitchen. Even better it was all microwavable.

"What are these squiggles." "Numbers. An ancient Chinese dialect." "Of course. I should have known that."

Small talk was bad. And annoying.

"So these numbers. It's a cipher." "Exactly." "And each..." "Give me that!"

And Sherlock's patience had given out. It was about time. "JOHN!"

The pasta got thrust back into the fridge, that voice meant he wouldn't have time for it. "Soo Lin started translating the words before she was shot! We didn't see it!"

He watched as Sherlock grabbed his coat. "We must have been staring right at it. I'm off to the museum. The book must be there. It must be on her desk."

He felt the need to follow Sherlock fight with the need to look after Sarah as much as he found her annoying. "I'll call Jane to cover the surgery and I'll catch up."

It was only minutes later that the door bell rang. That was bloody fast, she must have just finished off working nearby. Only it wasn't her but a Chinese man. And then everything went black...

_Next part posted minutes after this. _


	6. Blind Banker Part 4

_Finally finished. I used a lot of the dialog from the actual episode in this with variations where appropriate. Enjoy._

As the buzzing, the gorgeous relaxing oblivious buzzing, stopped John became distinctly aware that he couldn't move his limbs, his head was pounding and there was something warm and sticky running slowly down his face.

He'd been knocked out and as he opened his eyes he assessed he'd been taken hostage. This was rather new. He'd never been kidnapped before. There was a voice, high so a woman's voice with a slight accent, saying something but it took him a minute to focus on the actual words and their meaning.

"Chinese proverb Mister Holmes."

They had to be kidding. They'd kidnapped him because they thought he was Sherlock. "I'm not Sherlock."

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

He felt like he'd been beaten with a stick and what does she do but press into his chest to reach into his pocket.

"Credit card under the name of S Holmes." "He's not to be trusted with money."

"A cheque made out to Mister Sherlock Holmes for five thousand pounds." "Really can't be trusted with money."

"Tickets for the circus collected by you under the name Holmes." "He was late. I realise what this looks like but I'm his partner."

"We heard it from your own mouth. Letting your girlfriend through the door." "We're not dating and I'm not Sherlock."

Seriously, sure this all looked bad but they really hadn't done their research properly. How the hell could you get the two of them mixed up. And then she had a gun. Just great.

"I am Shan."

That was a surprise.

"You're Shan." "Tree times we tried to kill you and your companion Mister Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin fails three times?"

He knew he shouldn't but the bit of his mind that had spent far too much time with Sherlock answered. "He needs sacking?"

The safety was off and panic was filling his mind. He might have been a soldier but that did not prepare you for being confused with your partner and shot by the Chinese version of the mafia. He was scared for his life and all could think about was Sherlock.

As she pulled the trigger and he heard the click his life and all the regrets he had. That he hadn't seen Harry. Hadn't thanked Mrs Hudson for her mothering. Hadn't kissed Sherlock. They all filled his mind.

He blinked. Wait. Why was he still alive. "It shows they're not really trying."

As she put ammunition in the gun the fear came back. He couldn't die. Not hear not now. "You see if we wanted to kill you we'd have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive. Do you have the treasure?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'd prefer to make certain."

As he stared down the face of the cross bow he felt himself go cold. "Everything has a price and the price for her life. Information."

As he watched Sarah be positioned in front of it he felt shame crawl up for the pit of his stomach. It was him that had endangered her and yet all he could feel was relief that it wasn't Sherlock sat there. She was another he would willingly sacrifice to keep that man safe.

He couldn't even bring himself to regret it. Especially as he could well be following soon after as the fourth.

"Where is the hairpin?"

"What?" That's what was stolen! A hairpin! They kidnapped him for a bloody hairpin.

"The Empress Jade Hairpin valued at nine million sterling by a buyer in the West. One of our transporters got greedy and stole it. And you Mister Holmes have been searching."

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes. I haven't found this hairpin."

He could hear Sarah's gagged screams as the bolt was set into place and the sand bag cut. He couldn't do anything. Nothing. He felt as useless as when he was shot.

"For your pleasure, Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death defying stunt."

"Please. She's an acquaintance and I'm not Sherlock." He sounded desperate even to his own ears.

"You've seen the act. How boring for you. You know how it ends."

"I'm not Sherlock bloody Holmes."

"Sorry if I don't believe you." He could see why Sherlock hated stupid people who got the facts wrong so much.

"You should you know." Exactly. Wait that wasn't him and it sounded distinctly like a certain partner of his who he was trying to keep safe.

"I'm nothing like him."

He wasn't sure whether to be overjoyed or insulted at that statement. The man really was living close to the edge of sleeping on the sofa, if they didn't end up in a morgue.

"How would you describe me John? Resourceful, dynamic, enigmatic?"

"Late, lazy, duvet hog, insufferable. The list goes on."

"Hey! I do not steal all the duvet." There was a pause. "That guns a semi automatic. Fire it and the bullet will travel at over a thousand meters per a second." "Well." The goon was down with what looked like an umbrella. A sadistic part of him hoped it was Mycroft's umbrella.

"The radius curvature of these walls is almost four metres. If you miss the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone, even you."

One of the lights went out and he was plunged into even more darkness. It took a few seconds for his eyes to readjust to the new lowered light levels. In that time Sherlock was getting strangled. Fear swamped his mind again.

Not because his partner was being strangled but because they were behind Sarah. The crossbow bolt had buried deep within the wood during the show. It wouldn't be completely stopped by Sarah's body. It'd pass through hitting whoever was behind. Hitting Sherlock.

He surged forward in the chair. His limbs were tied but there was a bit of movement in his feet he was able to walk slightly, just not very well. He was nearing the crossbow. Only a metre away and his foot slipped sending him tumbling to the side of it.

The weight was almost at the trigger. There wasn't much time now. With all his strength he kicked outwards hitting the side of it and sending it off course just before it fired. It even hit the guy strangling Sherlock which was an added plus to the man not being impaled.

He lay there filled with relief. He could hear Sarah's panicked sobs as Sherlock untied her but he couldn't care. Sherlock was safe and that was all that mattered.

Later as he made the two of them cups of tea and Sherlock explained the code and where the hairpin was he felt a sense of comfort about the whole situation. It was all rather pleasant.

ooo

The secretary, Amanda, had been thrilled with the discovery of the price of the hair pin she had in her hair was. He had to admit that it was rather pretty but he couldn't really see why it was worth nine million pounds.

It was Sebastian though that John had insisted they go together to see. He was rather enjoying winding the man up after last time. Arm around Sherlock's waist he walked into the man's office with a big smile on his face to explain what had happened.

The look of disbelief was fantastic. "You mean he climbed up on the balcony." If it wasn't for the twenty thousand they were making off of that hit of information he'd have passed it on to some of his patients who had the skills to pull it off. "Lay a plank across the window and all your problems are over." He'd tell them to being glass cutters and a saw as well.

Cheque in hand they swept out of the office.

ooo

When they got back to the flat. It might of been morning but they hadn't slept in days. He laughed at the headline of Million-hair, noting the frown still on Sherlock's face. "It bothers you doesn't it. That she got away."

The detective nodded.

John smiled. "Now that's settled time for bed." There was a pair of widened grey eyes staring at him.

"I'm not a child, John." Sometimes he wondered.

"No, but you haven't slept in days and as a doctor I'm telling you to get your arse in bed now." He was rather surprised when he was obeyed.

Half an hour later as he tried to sleep, a snoring mass already positioned across him, he couldn't help but wonder at all the things he'd thought as Shan held the gun to his head. Had he really regretted not kissing Sherlock?

The thought and incident was soon forgotten as his subconscious overtook his mind and he slipped into sleep.

_Done and on the day the next episode comes out. There'll be a couple of none series orientated chapters while I work out where to fit in the finale. _


	7. Guns and Sex Lines

_I'd like to thank all those that have given me constructive criticism. If you notice something wrong, especially grammar or spelling then tell me and I'll correct it. _

_Should probably point out short of an air rifle a few years ago I haven't used firearms and know practically nothing about them. If there are mistakes then tell me. You'll see what I mean further down. _

_Minor changes, mostly grammatical. _

He'd just got back from getting various prescriptions from the chemist, none of which they personally needed but a number of his patients were rather reluctant to put a name to their faces so a necessity none the less.

What he didn't expect was for Sherlock to be on the phone to someone. The man never seemed to phone anyone, he'd always text. John had a suspicion that this was due to the reduced human contact from texting rather than phoning but he'd never really bothered to ask.

"The cat..."

Must be something about their ongoing case with the Major's cat. It wasn't as exciting as their recent big cases so it tended to take the back burner for when Sherlock was bored. Probably wouldn't last long.

A few minutes later as he walked in, two mugs of tea in hand, his partner hung up. Curiosity however was still getting the better of him.

"Who was that?"

Sherlock blinked up at him absentmindedly. "You weren't here and Mrs Hudson still has Geoffrey, my skull."

He'd named the skull? Seriously who named a skull but then who had a skull to talk to anyway. "So who were you on the phone to?"

"A sex line."

John found himself spraying tea across his legs. "Did I hear that right? You the almighty untouchable Sherlock Holmes were calling a sex line?"

The man just nodded. "There was no one to talk to and they at least don't tell you to piss off." He couldn't help but pity the poor girl that was on the other end of the line. She must have been rather confused.

"Next time just call me."

The man nodded again. He wasn't sure if the detective was actually listening but he really did hope so. Still he couldn't imagine Mycroft's face when he told the man his brother had been calling a sex line.

In fact he probably didn't even need to tell him. Knowing Mycroft he already had their phones tapped and was accessing their phone records on a regular basis.

ooo

As he looked at the place Sherlock had brought him John felt apprehension. He glanced at the man who had his hand and was dragging him through the doors of a shooting range. He wasn't sure how the man had even found the place.

They must have looked rather odd. The tall gangly man pulling the smaller stocky one by the arm. Kind of like a child pulling their adult along, not entirely inaccurate but still. And rather coupley...while walking into a shooting range...in Brixton. Really not a good idea.

The man at the desk looked at them. He was the type you typically saw on a motorbike and he looked distinctly unimpressed. "What'd you want?"

"We're here for some practice." The man seemed weary.

"Any experience?"

"John here is an ex-soldier. Excellent shot. Could fatally hit a man through a window and hundred feet." He could feel himself spluttering and giving Sherlock a dirty look. Did the man really have to tell people that. Then Sherlock added "I'm a bit out of practice."

It took a little while for them to finish filling in all the different forms and disclaimers so that they could actually get out onto the range and with hand guns no less. Still all the information was easily faked and it wasn't exactly safe.

They had decided early on that it probably best not to tell them in a supposedly rough section of London that they did in fact have their own firearm. Especially that it was tucked in the waistband of John's trousers.

John was rather looking forward to seeing Sherlock's aim. It had always been him holding the gun and he'd never seen Sherlock even hold a gun.

They headed down to the end away from most of the people. He was rather glad as he really didn't want his partner to say something someone else there would find insulting and try to shoot him, possible both of them.

"Have you ever actually ever used a gun?"

Sherlock grinned at him and took the gun in hand aiming down the range at the target down the end. It was about a hundred yards away.

The man had left his coat and scarf on a chair at the side and made quite a site stood there in his shirt and suit trousers. A rather nice site at that.

He watched as he held the gun up looking down at the target and taking aim before firing. There was slight recoil going down but each time he re-aimed before he fired the next shot. It was a wonderful sight and he was barely looking at the target.

A minute later when the gun was empty he glanced down at the target. He didn't know how long it had been since the man had last shot but his aim was fairly good. There was one stray shot, probably the first but the last were neatly within the circles of the target. One had even hit the bull's eye. He was very impressed.

"I used to shoot as a teenager. I could always beat Mycroft, it annoyed him greatly." He could imagine the brotherly rivalry in full swing. It must have been rather hazardous, even more so if they both had firearms. Although it did raise questions about the type of childhood Sherlock had had.

"Your turn."

The cheerfulness in the man's voice seemed almost indecent considering the setting but none the less he picked up the gun.

He'd had more practice than Sherlock and more recently so his shooting was much neater, faster and more accurate. It was a skill he'd refined to save his life rather than through rivalry so he surpassed Sherlock by far. All of the shots were clustered around or in the bull's eye.

John was rather pleased. It wasn't something he had so much opportunity to practice so he was glad that his skills hadn't declined.

It was rather unnerving though feeling the pair of eyes that were watching him. They seemed to take in his every movement but whenever he looked over Sherlock was concentrating on something else.

He did notice though that Sherlock's shooting style started to change and become much more like that that he'd been taught. The cheeky bugger was imitating his movements to try and improve his aim.

A smirk crept up onto his lips as the man gave a frustrated growl. Evidently imitation wasn't enough.

"Would you like some tips." He kept his voice suspiciously innocent. His partner looked at him like he was a rabid animal but after a few minutes he mumbled something.

"What was that?"

Sherlock gave a frustrated sigh. He replied "Yes I would like some help."

John felt like a kid in a sweet shop. Sherlock Holmes wanted his help, this wasn't something that happened every day and he wanted to savour the triumphant feeling that accompanied it.

He approached the man as he stood holding the gun in the stance he had adopted to shoot with. John circled around him looking over how he stood.

Gently he adjusted the height of a limb there, the position of a leg there, the bend of an elbow. It took a few minutes, Sherlock standing very still probably the stillest he'd ever seen the man in the time they'd known him. He stepped back looking over his work. Perfect.

With a nod to his partner the man started shooting, each time returning his body to the position it had been placed into. This time his aim was a lot closer to the bull's eye.

He felt himself grinning as the man turned a dazzling smile his way. Picking up his gun again he carried on practicing. This was rather fun.

ooo

"We need to come back here."

Sherlock sent a smile his way. Not one of the fanatical grins he seemed to bare when an interesting case comes along but a small content smile. It seemed to John to make him look even more handsome.

"Did you have fun?"

The question seemed to throw him; it wasn't the sort of thing that his partner usually asked him.

"Yes, very enjoyable."

The man slipped an arm round his waist and led him towards a Chinese restaurant to get tea. "Good. Happy month anniversary."

John couldn't help but laugh. Normal people in a normal relationship got meals out and chocolates as presents. Not him. Instead he got a clinic and trip to a shooting range. But he really wouldn't wish for it to be any other way.

_Any good? _

_Next chapter will probably be The Great Game purely as there were only a few days in the time line between it and the Blind Banker case. Then I'll be carrying on with my planned plot line. _


	8. The Great Game Part 1

_And it begins. Not sure when the next chapter will be as I'm away for a few days. _

As the sound of gunshots filtered out of their living room John couldn't help but regret ever giving Sherlock tips on shooting. The man seemed to have taken to shooting inside when he was bored and not only was it hazardous but it was making a mess of the walls.

The cries of bored followed by the bangs of gunfire were an indicator that this was one such time. He seemed to even be shooting in a smiley face. Couldn't someone do something to keep him entertained.

He snatched the gun from his partner's hands, slipping the safety on before he could cause any more damage.

Although draped over the settee in just his pyjamas, top included most likely for the benefit of a very disappointed Mrs Hudson, he made a very pleasing sight. Perhaps boredom should strike more often.

"How about the Russian case?"

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic. Murder. Not worth my time."

"The double murders on the telly?"

"Police haven't called me in yet. Won't let me touch it. Plus it's up north."

Grabbing the groceries headed into the kitchen muttering about discrimination and leaving his partner to wallow in his misery. He at least had patients to see, that could never get boring with some of the characters that turned up. How they'd gotten their injuries even more so.

He opened the fridge door and closed it again. There was a severed head in their fridge. Even for Sherlock this wasn't entirely normal.

"Why is there a head in the fridge?"

"Why are there eyeballs in the microwave?"

"An experiment?"

There was no reply so he presumed the answer was right. Still it was really quite creepy. Definitely needed to cure this stint of boredom. Plus it was taking up half the fridge. Where the hell was he supposed to food?

"I saw your blog. A study in pink. Nice."

"Pink lady, pink phone, pink case, you know. It seemed to fit."

"Did you like it?"

"Nope." The pillow hit Sherlock in the face with a startled yelp. Next time he'd be chucking the skull.

"Not flattered?"

"Flattered! Yes, 'what's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things'! Like it matters to me who's prime minister or who's sleeping with who. You didn't even mention our relationship."

"Or that the earth goes round the sun." The pillow headed back in his direction.

"Not that again. It's not important."

"It's primary school stuff. How can you not know it?" He couldn't help but be curious. It was something everyone knew so how was it missing from such an intelligent mans mind.

"If I ever did I deleted it. My brain is my hard drive. I fill it with things that are useful, really useful. Normal people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish that makes it hard to get to the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

He had the idea but it still seemed very strange, although when had his partner ever really been normal. The head in the fridge was certainly a fine example.

"And please stop inflicting your appalling grammar on the world."

"You'll be proof reading it then."

The man huffed and turned over so he faced the wall but he'd spotted the smile already on his lips. At least their banter seemed to ward off the boredom for a bit.

There was the shrill ring of a mobile and John pulled it out to see Jane was calling. It took him a minute to gather that one of her colleagues had been attacked and needed urgent care. Another minute to grab his stuff and head out the door yelling that he'd be out all night.

He passed Mrs Hudson on the way out and as he closed the door could hear her shrieks over the state of the wall. At least that was one less thing he had to deal with.

ooo

He'd been working through most of the night before crashing on Jane's sofa. He hadn't seen the news until Jane came back from work that night to tell him about the explosion.

As he ran through the police cordon and to his flat, knocking over one of the officers trying to stop people from doing just that, he threw himself through the door of 221B Baker Street. If Sherlock was hurt he didn't know what he would do.

What was waiting for him was the last thing he expected to see.

There sat in the middle of the living room not fighting, although the air was filled with hostility, were the two Holmes brothers. As he walked they even started both deducting things about where he slept and such. It was terrifying.

"Too busy. Can't do it." There was an almost sing songy quality to his voice that made John think he was doing it to wind up Mycroft.

"This isn't your normal trivia. This is of national importance."

"How's the diet?" His partner was avoiding the question.

"Fine. Maybe you can make him see reason John." God, now he was going to get pulled into it. But which side to take. Sherlock was probably the safer choice.

As he perched on the chair arm, kissing him on the cheek and practically leaning on the man to show his support. Their arguments really were insightful, especially the comment about the Korean elections. Seriously how far did this man's influence reach?

"Besides a case like this requires leg work." He wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or not at that particular comment.

"How's he like to live with? Hellish I imagine." The man was actually trying to dig about their, admittedly fake although incredibly realistic, relationship.

"It's never boring." He sent a rather wicked smirk at Mycroft, let him think what he will from that. "Although he does steal all the duvet."

There were indignant cries from Sherlock who was still denying the fact as Mycroft passed him the files on the dead man explaining the case.

It seemed rather complicated and like a legal nightmare. If missing secret plans hit the news it's be just as bad as when confidential details were left in a cab or the time they were left on the tube. Media frenzy to put it lightly.

And yet Sherlock didn't appear interested. Mycrofts comments about seeing him soon were a little creepy and he was rather glad when the man left. Still Sherlock was uninterested.

As the phone rang he recognised the glint that lit up the man's eyes. There was a case and a valid reason to ignore his brother's request. It could not be healthy for there to still be sibling rivalry when the siblings were in their thirties.

With that they were out the door.

ooo

Sherlock looked to be rather in his element as he strutted through the police station. He did however looked surprised at the fact that it wasn't a gas explosion. The detective even appeared to be bemused about the letter addressed to him which had survived the blast.

"Nice stationary, Bohemian. From the Czech Republic."

He was holding the letter up to the light to get a better look at it. John could see the man's brain processing the facts.

"Fountain pen, Parker. Obviously female."

It was fascinating watching the man at work. The way he looked everything over with such intense concentration, his brain missing nothing in its search.

"It's a phone, the same one as the woman?"

"The study in pink?" He blinked. Lestrade read his blog?

"Of course not the same phone, one made to look-you read his blog?"

"We all do." They what! Thank god he didn't include the bit about shooting the taxi driver. He'd be in jail by now if he did.

"Did you really not know the earth went round the sun?" He was going to have to put up with so much sulking when this was over.

The fact that whoever had sent the phone and caused the explosion was reading his blog was even more disturbing than the fact that Sherlock and what seemed to be a good proportion of the police force read it. His sister was bad enough.

He looked at the photo as he lent on Sherlock so he could see. Five pips and then a photo? The detective looked interested.

"It's a warning and I've seen this place before."

He chased after Sherlock as they left the building. He hoped this didn't mean there was going to be another explosion.

_I'd say a bit of a cliff hanger but we all know what is going to happen. _


	9. The Great Game Part 2

_There you go. Must say that this episode is very hard to right from John's perspective. It keeps jumping about to much but the ending should be good. _

He watched as Sherlock worked. By now he knew better than to ask about the woman. Spending so much time around the detective had changed the way he thought. She was just a hostage and a person clever enough to pull this off wouldn't have left electronic traces, from what he'd heard from his patients it was easy enough to do.

"Can you get my phone?"

" Where is it?" He was almost scared to ask.

"My jacket." John felt that pointing out that he was wearing the jacket and therefore closer was pointless. He grazed the man's chest as he reached around him to get it but the detective didn't seem to mind.

"Text from your brother. Eight texts, must be important."

"Delete them. He didn't cancel his dental appointment so not important."

"What?"

"My darling brother would never text if he can talk." John couldn't help but mentally add a comment about liking the sound of his own voice.

He almost made a comment to remind the detective about the woman who might die but he knew it useless. The man was a sociopath; it'd only earn him a sharp comment as he became overly defensive about his lack of care.

He was almost glad when Molly came in, man in tow, to cause a distraction. The fact that she didn't know his name and referred to him as Sherlock's partner was irritating but bearable. The man's appreciative glances at Sherlock however grated on his nerves.

Really the cheek of the man. As Sherlock explained that the man was gay and had left his number he started to dislike the man. He couldn't even bring himself to care about the fact that his partner had upset Molly.

She was a nice girl but really needed to get over her crush. He commented on the fact it wasn't kind out of habit rather than actual meaning.

He was surprised seconds later when Sherlock passed him one of the shoes and asked him to try.

"I'm not doing this so you can make fun of me."

The grin the man sent him told him he was wrong. "I'd never do that. You can kick me out of bed, the settee isn't very comfortable for sleeping on."

He took that as a good thing.

"Fine." John picked up the shoe and turned it over looking at it. It was very hard and he was sure he was missing vital things. "Trainers. Look new but the sole is worn. Owner has had them a while. Very 80s so retro design. Big so a mans, but felt tip on the inside so they belong to a kid."

He was surprised when the man said "Spot on." Less so when it was followed with "You missed almost everything important but well done."

"Owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean when they got dirty. Changed the laces three...no four times. Even though there are traces of his flaky skin where he's come into contact so eczema. Worn more on the left side so the owner had weak arches. British made twenty years old. They're not retro but original. Limited edition, two blue stripes 1989."

He marvelled again at how the man noticed all of those things and yet didn't know primary school science.

The following explanation lost him a bit. He got that he'd traced the whereabouts from the pollen but not much else.

As he saw realisation hit his partner he frowned. Especially when he started saying the name Carl Powers.

"1989 a young swimming champion came up from Brighton for a gala and drowned in the pool."

The insight into Sherlock's past was fascinating. He'd started young, must have always been like this, although being young he'd also be ignored. It must have been frustrating for the man. All his brilliance and it went to waste.

Hours later as he watched his partner pore over articles he felt just as helpless. It didn't help that Mycroft had started to harass him via text as well.

The fact that Sherlock had decided to put his best man on it made him distinctly nervous. The detective had better not be thinking what he was thinking he was thinking.

ooo

As he sat in Mycroft's office the following day he felt resentment for his partner bubbling up. Neither of them were keen on Mycroft and yet Sherlock managed to escape the meeting.

The man's smile when he said he was there to collect more facts was really creepy. Although from the say he held the side of his mouth it looked like Sherlock was right about the root canal and the dentist's appointment.

He was pretty sure that Mycroft wasn't buying any of his lies but he couldn't bring himself to care. He practically skipped out of the office as soon as possible. If he didn't know better he'd almost say that Mycroft was eyeing him up.

ooo

Sherlock's cries of poison as he walked into the flat certainly seemed to be promising even if he did scare Mrs Hudson off. The following explanation seemed a little farfetched but he could just about buy it.

As Sherlock posted his findings on his website and the killer rang he was actually convinced.

The woman was sobbing on the phone again. "Well done. You come and get me."

The woman was safe and he felt some relief although he suspected that it wasn't really over. Sherlock leant down over him to show John the message. A car and registration number.

It took him a few minutes for the fact that the person on the phone wasn't Mycroft to cut through and he was up and at his partner's side.

ooo

"Still hanging around him then." Sally Donovan was talking to him and he couldn't help but be reminded of all the times she'd called Sherlock a freak. "Opposites attract them."

He couldn't help but answer. "Yes. Plus the sex is fantastic." As he walked past to join his partner. The look on her face was well worth it.

Unfortunately he had gone to talk to the wife of the man missing. Knowing the sociopath this wasn't going to end well.

A few rather blatant lies later and a rather distressed wife he knew he was right. Still at least Sherlock had gotten something out of it.

He rather felt like he was just following the detective around at the moment. With no body there was nothing for him to examine. It was like he was there for emotional support...for a sociopath...which was a laugh in itself.

As they headed off to the place where the car had been hired from he was almost tempted to go back home. At least there he could get a bit of sleep, although he knew he'd never actually do it. His need for adrenaline got in the way.

John went though the usual facts with the owner. Stuff he'd seen detectives off the telly asking, ones that unlike Sherlock couldn't tell everything from a glance. A Sherlock asked about the cigarette machine he knew that it was probably some clever ploy but he almost started his usual rant on the evils of smoking. Followed by the one about overdosing on nicotine patches and drugs use.

ooo

He actually did get a little bit of sleep before getting dragged up by his partner to go see the car, at which the man preceded to say exactly what had happened. It was like he had just gotten them there to go over his cleverness.

He wished his partner was a little more considerate. He could have told them that earlier and John could have stayed in bed and gotten an hour or so of actual sleep. Stupid insomniac sociopath.

It was interesting though. A special service to make you disappear and then relocate to another country so that they could get out of debts or whatever trouble you were in. Almost Sherlock clever.

"So where is he?"

"Columbia."

"Columbia?" Surely he wouldn't go that far just to disappear. Evidently he would.

The man was like a small child who'd gotten full marks on a spelling test with the way he was celebrating working it out. Revelling in his own cleverness. John thought it was almost disgusting to watch.

It was almost creepy how the phone rang almost the second the man posted his message.

ooo

As they sat in the cafe, him eating and Sherlock again proving that he really did have a form of eating disorder. It was not healthy to eat as little as the man did and that was without even getting into his sleeping patterns, or lack of.

The part of him that thought pinning the man to the floor and force feeding him was a good idea. Maybe slip a few sleeping pills into the food.

Three beeps later and he felt much more of use.

Sherlock's ignorant comment of "That could be anyone" made him smile.

" Lucky for you I've had more than a little time on my hands between patients."

"What do you mean?" The man looked perplexed and it was rather cute.

"Luckily me and Mrs Hudson watch a lot of day time telly." As he flicked through the channels of the small telly till Connie Prince appeared on the screen. The woman was the next clue or body depending on how you looked at it.

He stared at Sherlock as he talked to the killer. The detective looked overly serious. He wasn't liking what he heard. Still the bit of triumph he felt from solving it before the detective still won through.

_This chapter comes with a bit of an ominous air to it. Results are tomorrow and last time I had results all inspiration fled and I stopped writing for months. We will see what happens as to when the next update appears. _


	10. The Great Game Part 3

_Thank you to everyone who wished me luck and I hope everyone getting exam results got what they needed. I'm off to York. Yay! _

They looked over the body and he really hoped that Molly wasn't about. She wasn't going to be happy to see Sherlock again so soon after his last comments.

He did however feel useful again as he was asked a variety of medical questions. That was better. Even more so when he was sent off to research the woman.

An hour later he did not expect to be sat in the dead woman's living room, her cat climbing over him and her brother taking rather a lot of interest in him while pretending to be a journalist. It really didn't help that he disliked cats.

When the brother sat next to him he was getting rather uncomfortable. As he smelt disinfectant on the cats paws he felt relief.

He almost smirked. It was about time he got Sherlock there, posing as a photographer of course. The man would get the brothers attention rather than him with his tall dashing good looks.

Unfortunately from the way the brother was still uncomfortable close he hadn't fallen for those good looks. Damn. It was probably Sherlock's eccentricity which put the man off.

As he legged it out the door he was glad he'd never have to go back there. He'd figured it out. Him!

"You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat."

Why did the man have to spoil his fun.

"What? Of course it was the cat. It must be. It's how he got the tetanus into her system and its pores stink of disinfectant. New pet. Bound to be a bit jumpy. Scratching is almost inevitable."

"Thought of it as soon as I saw the scratches on her arm but it's too random and too clever for the brother."

Bugger.

"He murdered his sister for her money."

Sherlock just dismissed it. "Did he? It was revenge."

The man really was dramatic. In this day and age how many killed for revenge.

"It was Raoul the house boy. The cat had nothing to do with it. Did you see the state of the floor, clean, covered in disinfectant. Even you smell of it now."

"Connie's brother was the butt of all her jokes. He was fed up of her bullying campaign. When she threatened to disinherit him the boy who'd gotten rather accustomed to his lifestyle killed her."

He didn't even bother to argue with the man. He knew he was wrong. The detective sent a smirk his way.

"The house boy did her Botox which is a weak form of the poison that killed Carl Powers. He had been storing it up and bulking up the order for months to concentrate it then injected her during one of her regular injections."

On the way back to the police station it dawned on him that Sherlock had known all along. For the second time since this game had began he found himself keeping quiet for his own peace of mind. If Sherlock knew he could save her then a few hours extra as a hostage were insignificant to his mind.

He hoped the woman lived, if only for Sherlock's sake.

He was knocked out of his thoughts by Sherlock's sudden exclamations of no down the phone. Dread gripped him. "Tell me nothing about him. Nothing."

She was talking about the man behind it all, Moriarty. The one thing she couldn't do. As Sherlock went silent he didn't need to ask what had happened. He knew.

The woman had said too much and she was dead.

No matter how much his partner claimed not to care and to be a sociopath he knew that it wasn't entirely true. Even if he couldn't feel guilt for the woman dying he would feel failure. Failure to stop her from dying despite the fact he'd solved the puzzle.

Gently he guided Sherlock out of the police station and back to their flat. He was mostly unresponsive but for the hand that was clinging to his jumper like it was a life line.

ooo

A cup of tea securely settled with in his hands he settled back down next to Sherlock as they watched the news. The man is leaning into him for comfort as he explains what has happened. Even though he had already guessed he let his partner explain. To muse upon it out loud.

He added a question here and there. It was all part of his duty as replacement skull, although he liked to think of himself as a far superior model. After all it wasn't like a skull could actually talk.

"So he arranged the murder of Connie Prince?"

Sherlock hummed and carried on babbling off ideas, stealing some of his tea despite the fact he claimed to never eat or drink or sleep while on a case. The bugger ended up drinking most of his cup.

"Why's he playing this game then, does he want to get caught?"

"Maybe he wants to be distracted."

God. It sounded like there was another Sherlock out there in the world, apart from Mycroft. One who was a lot less fussy about where he got his thrills. A Sherlock who was into organised crime, killing and terrorism.

It was a terrifying thought as he leant back into the man. He was eternally glad that his partner was on their side.

As the pink phone beeped signalling another crime his chest clenched. He really did hope they both made it out of this alive.

ooo

There was a kind of norm to looking over bodies these days. Sherlock looked over them before hand and had no doubt already picked up on how they were killed but he appreciated that he was brought to double check and pick up anything more medical that the man may have missed. Even if he did get dragged off to the bank of the Thames, a less than pleasant place to be.

It was gratifying coming from a man who never asked for help if he could work it out on his own. Although he suspected he was brought along more for the company and to patch up Sherlock when someone took offence to his usual way with words than actual medical knowledge.

That and self defence. He'd managed to cut the number of times his partner got punched or slapped down to five times a month. A definite improvement from when he first started working with the man.

"The water's eroded most of the evidence but I'll tell you one thing. That lost painting they've found is a fake."

"But what's that got to do with him?" Lestrade asked. John was quiet, after five years surely the DI had learnt that Sherlock wouldn't be able to resist telling them.

"Everything. Have you heard of the Golem."

Vague memories of a Jewish next door neighbour who baby sat him and Harry from time to time swamped his mind. They weren't very clear but he remembered the name from the stories. "It's a story, isn't it? A horror story."

Sherlock nodded at him. "It's a Jewish folklore. A gigantic man made of clay and it's also the name of an assassin. One of the deadliest assassins in the world and that is his trademark styles."

"It's a hit" John wasn't sure they really wanted to get mixed up with an assassin but after the international crime syndicate less than a week ago there really was no backing out now.

The following explanation was fantastic as usual. He said it aloud and the following grin he got was well worth it no matter how much he was inflating his partner's ego.

ooo

They were in a cab going god knows where. It wasn't like his partner ever had the common courtesy to actually tell him. That would be far too simple. It didn't help that ever since he had first met the man he was rather nervous of being in cabs. "How are you going to find the golem?"

The grin as Sherlock sent his way as he tore a page out of his notebook rolled up in a fifty, stopped the cab and jumped over the metal barrier was hardly promising.

He found himself following as Sherlock passed the note and money to a homeless woman under Waterloo bridge. That was their bloody rent!

"What are you doing?"

"Investing." He supposed that whatever kind of investment it was a lot safer than letting the man on the stock market. He could just see the police and god knows how who else turning up at their door accusing Sherlock of various types of fraud.

He supposed it would be a good way to get money though.

Still as they both got back into the cab and drove away he hadn't really gotten a clearer answer.

_Another chapter down and this episode should be done with fairly soon. Probably only one or a max of two chapters till I get back to the main story line. _


	11. The Great Game Part 4

_A bit faster this time. Enjoy._

As he paid for the cab outside the deceased attendant's house he couldn't help but feel that he was sent off so that Sherlock didn't have to pay the taxi fair. After all black cabs were rather expensive and all the travelling around in them really wasn't helping their finances.

Still at least the woman who let him in and showed him around the room was nice. A bit tearful but nice.

The break in and the fact a message had been left however did seem incredibly suspicious. He hoped Sherlock was having a good time because he had to finished off with the fiancé.

Keeping Mycroft happy, content and not tracing their every movement was all he asked for. It was creepy and he could almost feel the security cameras leering after his every move.

ooo

He was on the way back from the fiancé's house as he saw Sherlock on the street corner. He felt sorry for the woman and needed to get Sherlock interested in the case. She was so certain that he'd not stolen the plans and he hoped Sherlock could prove it. It wasn't meant to be.

Sherlock got into the cab and passed him the bit of paper he'd gotten from the homeless woman too him. The Vauxhall Arches. Not exactly a fun place to go, especially after dark but apparently the location of the golem. Mycroft's case would have to wait.

By the time they got there it was definitely dark.

"Beautiful isn't it."

He followed Sherlock's gaze up the slither of nights sky that they could see. It was beautiful and full of stars. It was surprising both in the fact Sherlock had noticed and the fact that you could actually see the stars. With the pollution levels, especially light, in London he'd thought they'd have been hidden from sight.

"I thought you didn-"

"I can appreciate them." Was the sharp reply. Perhaps he'd take Sherlock out to the country star gazing when this was all over.

But until then they were looking for a notorious assassin in a rather, in fact very, dodgy part of town. Sherlock always took him to all the best places. Murder scenes, crime scenes, dark alleys, Vauxhall arches. Could for once a killer not be hiding in the London aquarium or somewhere nice. Actually he thought, they'd probably end up in the shark tank. They'd probably be safer with one of the parks.

"Anytime you want to explain?"

"Homeless network, rather indispensable. My eyes and ears all over the city."

"That's rather clever." The smile he got from the man proved that his random compliments were still appreciated. "So they scratch your back and you-"

"Yes. And disinfect it." He might be clean but the man really had no social graces. Still at least the rent was going on a better cause than whatever black market he got his numerous severed limbs from.

They started searching, using torches to uncover everything the darkness and society was trying to hide. One of the shadows at the end of the arch he was stood in moved. It was big. He grabbed Sherlock and pushed the man round the nearest corner so they didn't get caught.

"What's he doing sleeping rough?" He whispered in his partner's ear.

The following reply sent shivers down his spine. Not for the content but the warm breath that was caressing his skin. "He's got a rather distinctive look. It isn't like he can just book into a hotel."

The golem must have heard them because the next thing he knew he was running and they were running after him. As they rounded the corner he could see tail lights as a car shot off. Bugger. They really needed to get a proper form of transport rather than their usual cabs.

"It could take us weeks to find him again."

He could feel a slightly malicious smile slipping across his face. "Or not. Someone left a message at Alex's house from a professor, he'll be going there."

Sherlock's eyes were narrowing at him. "Where?"

"The observatory." He was sure that if his partner was the type to swear that he would be doing so now. John really couldn't sympathise with him. It was the man's own fault for deleting it from his mind. Now he had to put up with all the teasing that came with it.

He was almost tempted to let a little bit of an evil laugh break out but did refrain.

ooo

The golem was strangling the woman as he advanced forward. Sherlock got the golem's attention but the woman was in the way and he couldn't get a good enough shot in the poor light. The woman was dropped and he took aim but per usual it all went to hell.

Something was pushed on the light board and suddenly there were strobes. John couldn't tell where he was let alone where the assassin was. The lights settles and he was strangling Sherlock.

There was a sudden rage flowing through him and yet the hand he held the gun in was completely steady. "Let go of him or I will kill you." He was surprised by how steady his voice sounded.

The lights went dark again and the gun was flying out of his hand. He couldn't see as something wrapped around his neck leaving him helpless. Airless. Dying. It was a feeling he was becoming increasingly familiar with. One he accepted because it meant Sherlock wasn't being harmed.

And then he was on his back. Everything hurt, especially his shoulder. The wind was knocked out of him and it took him a few seconds to work out that he was on the floor. He was on the floor and his wonderfully stupid partner was trying to wrestle an infamous assassin.

He was on his feet before his mind had really caught up. In fact he didn't really tally what he'd done until he was actually on the back of said infamous assassin. And he called Sherlock stupid.

As he was thrown across the stage he had to admit that that had been an awful idea. He hit something and the world went black.

ooo

Stood next to Sherlock back at the gallery while nursing what was a mild concussion he would happily throttle the man. The world wasn't quite as steady as it should have been and yet he was dragged along despite the fact he knew he probably should have checked himself in at a hospital.

The man really did lack social graces. Most people would have been concerned and not just pushed him into a cab. It seemed like his job as replacement skull was weighed higher than his immediate health.

Sherlock was shouting at the phone. The words weren't really going in. Sherlock did a lot of shouting a lot of the time. Then there was something else and Lestrade seemed to react badly.

"What did he say?"

He was forcing himself to focus. He needed to focus despite the throbbing in his head. "Ten. He's counting down."

The world seemed a little less blurred. It was a kids voice. The person strapped to the bomb was a kid. "Oh Jesus."

Sherlock was shouting again. He was shouting at them. Shouting at the woman. Shouting at himself. He had to work it out before the countdown was over of a child's blood would be on his hands. John could feel nausea gripping him. Although that may have just been the concussion.

He grabbed Sherlock's arm. "Think."

The man didn't even nod but he could see sudden realisation blossoming in his eyes. "Brilliant. Fantastic. Oh so clever."

Lestrade looked confused as his partner snatched the phone from his hand. "The van buren supernova."

There was a pause before a young desperate voice started pleading for help. He was relieved. They'd managed to save the boy.

"The van buren supernova. Supposed exploding star. Only appeared in the sky in 1858."

God he felt like he was going to fall over. Whether from relief or concussion he did not know. He couldn't even bring himself to care over the fact Mycroft had texted him again.

Perhaps he should get on with the investigation.

ooo

It was day light again and he still hadn't slept. Not exactly the state you wanted to be in when observing where a body had been found but it would have to do.

"You said that his head was smashed in?"

"It was but there wasn't much blood."

That was odd. The man wandered off but he wasn't really listening, he was trying to be Sherlock. Words, theories, flooded from his mouth. He had to admit that this was a good way to think. Thoughts seemed to order themselves as he voiced them.

He crouched down to get a better look at the lines.

"Points."

What the-stood behind him was Sherlock. He should have known the man wouldn't have been able to stay away.

_Can't wait until the next bit. It will be very fun to write. And then the chapter after that is nearly finished so rapid updates should commence. _


	12. The Great Game Part 5

_The long awaited ending! Mwahahahaha! I think writing this went to my head a bit. _

"West wasn't killed here that's why there was so little blood." He was just getting to that.

"How long have you been following me?"

"From the start." That sounded about right. Typical Sherlock couldn't leave a case alone. "You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spit my brother, do you?" He did but that was besides the point really.

As the man lead him away towards a suburban area he couldn't help but sigh. Sherlock was a sneaky bugger. He wondered how long it would be until the man trusted him completely, if ever, with his plans.

"So whoever has the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it."

John nodded along, it was best to go along with such things. It wasn't till Sherlock pulled out some lock picks and started to work on the door that he had to protest.

"What if there's someone in?" He was sure he sounded scandalised.

Sherlock just turned to him grinning. "There isn't. I'll teach you to lock pick when we have a bit of time." He wasn't so sure about it from a moral prospective but he guessed it could be useful for breaking out if nothing else.

"Does Lestrade know about your extra-curricular activities?" The following silence answered that one for him.

He glanced around. The flat was fairly run down. "Where are we?"

"Joe Harrison's flat, the brother of West's fiancé. He stole the memory stick, killed his prospective brother-in-law."

"Why kill him here?"

"Let's ask him."

John almost cursed at the sound of the door opening. Could Sherlock be a little more considerate of their safety. It was a bloody good thing he was an ex-soldier and had a gun or the pair of them would have been in serious trouble and possible dead by now.

He waited till the door was locked and walked out. Joe went to grab his bike and use it as some form of weapon, he wasn't really sure what he'd have done with it but John put a swift halt to such plans by pulling his gun out into clear view.

People seemed to behave and do what you wanted when there was a gun in the picture. Shame Sherlock was one of the few exceptions.

He manoeuvred the man into the living room and sitting on the settee before he lowered his gun, keeping it at hand just in case.

The man was talking answering all their questions but he couldn't help but think it was all so stupid. A man was dead over some debts and the tiny black memory stick which was now nestled in Sherlock's hands.

ooo

Sherlock was watching crap telly again and he was only just remembering how much he hated the man doing so. Even worse it was Jeremy Springer re-runs. Not only had they watched it before but Sherlock was still deducted.

"Of course he's not the father, just look at his turn ups." John himself was mystified at the relevance.

"Have you told Mycroft you have the memory stick yet?"

"Yes." He was a little in doubt after all the rivalry between them but he'd decided it was best to believe the man.

"He threatened me with a knighthood, again." So maybe he had actually texted.

He considered making a comment about how a little knowledge of the solar system would have helped but he had no doubt it would get thrown back in his face. The man really was defensive about things he chose to delete.

His phone rang and he saw that it was Jane calling about a patient who'd broken their leg down in White City.

"Jane just called. I won't be back for tea but there's risotto in the fridge." He didn't know why he even bothered saying it. Sherlock wasn't going to eat but it made him feel better.

It was still a bit nippy out but he fore went his coat. He needed the cold to keep him awake. As he headed out towards the main road to catch a cab the world went black.

ooo

As he opened his eyes there was a nagging feeling in the back of his head saying this was a lot like the time he was kidnapped by the Black Lotus, although he was pretty sure that time he didn't have a throbbing headache.

He was sat down although not tied up this time. From the heaviness of his limbs they didn't need to tie him down. He would barely be able to walk after whatever they'd drugged him with.

The room he was in brought back vague memories of his teen years working as a lifeguard. It was some type of boiler room thing. There was the big dirty machines he remembered being in the back of the swimming pool he'd working in, chlorine plant maybe. It was certainly hot enough with all the layers he was wearing.

It even smelt of it. There was something so distinctive about swimming pools that you never forgot the smell. But he couldn't understand why he was there. Who would hold him hostage in a swimming pool?

The heat was starting to go to his already cloudy head. It took him a minute to realise he was wearing a duffle coat. No wonder he was warm. Although god knows where it came from, he certainly didn't own one.

It wasn't till he'd partly unzipped it that the reality of the situation completely hit him. The duffle coat wasn't the only thing extra he was wearing.

Underneath it was the explosive rigged jacket that all the other hostages had been wearing. There was still one pip left and it was him. He was being used against Sherlock.

It was obvious that the whole game had been aimed at the man. That it had been constructed for Sherlock to solve and to get under his skin. And he, John Watson, was in the perfect position to be the ultimate piece as Sherlock's supposed lover and only friend.

"Worked it out then? It did take you a while. I'm surprised Sherlock keeps you around, you're so slow. Must be for other things." If it wasn't for the situation he would have been offended by the insinuations.

But it was Jim. The man they'd been hunting, who had set all of this up had been prancing around in front of them a day or so before. He'd even given Sherlock his number, for Christ's sake. It all seemed so unreal he almost wanted to laugh.

A red dot appeared on his chest. The laser guide for a sniper rifle.

"Now you're going to do exactly as I say or boom. And just think of how upset Sherlock would be if that happened."

ooo

Jim's voice was whispering in his ear. It took all his control not to tear the ear piece out right there and then, screw the consequences.

He was stood in one of the changing rooms hidden from sight with the duffel coat done up hiding the bomb within. He felt sick. He knew Jim was going to use him against Sherlock. Make him say words to hurt _his_ partner.

He could hear Sherlock's footsteps and then voice.

_Step out and repeat everything I say._

He could see the mystified look on Sherlock's face as he stepped out.

_Evening._

"Evening."

_This is a turn up isn't it Sherlock._

"This is a turn up isn't it Sherlock." He tried to convey how sorry he was with his face. Sorry that he'd gotten caught. Sorry he was being held hostage. Sorry he was being used against his partner.

From the horrified "John." He wasn't sure if he'd managed it.

_I bet you never saw this coming. _

"I bet you never saw this coming." Sherlock still looked horrified as he walked towards him. The man hadn't understood yet. As he opened the jacket understanding dawned.

_What would you like me to make him say next?_

"What would you like me to make him say next?"

The laser sight was back, shifting over his chest and the jacket, spelling doom if he did not co-operate.

_Nice touch this. The pool where Carl died. I stopped him..."_

"Nice touch this. The pool where Carl died. I stopped him..."

_I could stop John Watson too. Stop his heart. _

"I could stop John Watson too. Stop his heart." Oh god. What had he allowed the two of them to get into.

"I gave you my number." It was Jim's voice again, although not through the ear piece this time. The man was in the swimming pool with them. Revealing himself. He couldn't help but think that it was a signal that they weren't meant to live past the night. "I thought you might call."

"Is that a British army Browning in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?" John wasn't sure whether to be annoyed at Sherlock for taking his gun or glad that he had it. It wasn't like the man knew boundaries anyway.

"Both." With the whole camp thing and Sherlock pretending to be his boyfriend that sounded wrong.

John almost laughed as he watched Sherlock's face. "Jim Moriarty at your service. Jim from the hospital? Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then I suppose that was rather the point."

Sherlock kept glancing towards him, obviously trying to work something out.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like to get my hands dirty." A hysterical part of him almost commented on how similar he was to Mycroft but the part that was his self preservation quickly trampled on it.

"I've given you a glimpse Sherlock. Just a tinsy glimpse of what I've got going on out there ion the big bad world. I'm a specialist you see, like you."

"Jim please will you fix it for me." He wasn't sure the sarcasm in Sherlock's voice was appreciated but none the less it made him feel better. "Dear Jim will you please get rid of my lovers nasty sister. Dear Jim please can you fix it for me to disappear to South America."

"Just so."

"A consulting criminal."

"Brilliant."

"It is isn't it." God the man sounded camp. "No one ever gets to me and no one ever will."

"I did."

"You've come the closest but now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah okay I did."

John was almost ready to scream. If he was going to die could they just get on with it so he didn't have to stand there listening to the two of them squabbling like a pair of brothers. He was starting to feel like the parent who stepped in to keep the peace, which with all the guns about he certainly wasn't going to do.

Getting shot once was enough for him.

"The flirting over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those problems, even thirty million quid just to get you out to play. So take it as a friendly warning my dear." Not that it even sounded friendly. "Back off."

"I have loved this. This little game. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like that one? The little touch with the underwear?" And he obviously loved the sound of his own voice if the way he kept going on was anything to go by. John was coming to terms with his inevitable death rather nicely without the man rabbiting on.

"People have died." At least Sherlock was to the point.

"That's what people do!"

"I'm going to stop you."

"No you won't."

"You can talk, Johnny boy. Go on." Yes he wanted to talk to a nutter. Death would be quiet. It'd hurt but he imagined it would be quiet. Probably drive Sherlock up the walls.

"Go on. Take them."

"Ah. Missile plans." He could see Jim kissing the thing out the corner of his eyes. "Boring. I could have gotten those anywhere."

He saw him turn to throw them in the pool and saw an opportunity. He'd never really been one to act without thinking but he saw the opportunity and grabbed the back of Jim.

He didn't really know what he was saying. He was just trying to signal for Sherlock to run, to get out of there and save himself. The man was saying something about him being so sweet and loyal but it didn't really register.

There was a red shinning dot on Sherlock's forehead. Dread filled him as his arms went limp and he let go.

"Do you know what happens Sherlock, if you don't leave me alone?"

"Ow let me guess. I get killed." The boredom in the man's voice really had no place in this situation but his partner was rarely one to display the appropriate reaction.

"Killing? No, don't be obvious. I'll kill you anyway one day, don't want to rush it. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying I'll burn you." That sounded so gay it was unbelievable. "I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that that isn't quite true." He could feel the man looking at him. It really was rather creepy.

"Well, I've got to be off. So nice we could have a proper chat."

"If I was to shoot you now, what then?"

"Then you could relish the look of surprise on my face. Because I'd be surprised Sherlock, I would and just a tinsy bit disappointed. Not that you could cherish it for long. Chow, Sherlock Holmes."

"Catch you later."

"No you won't!"

And the man was gone. Relief flooded him, fighting with the adrenaline for dominance in my body. It took Sherlock mere seconds to be manhandling him and asking for reassurance. The jacket was off of him and thrown across the swimming pool before relief won over.

His legs gave out and Sherlock was there, lowering him, touching him, making sure he was all right. His words didn't seem to be enough the man had to check.

He couldn't even bring himself to feel violated at the hands running up and down his torso. He was just so glad they were both alive and all right.

"That thing that you offered to do. That was...good." The man really didn't know how to talk about feelings.

"I'm glad that no one saw that." He supposed it was just his hysterical brain talking. "You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People would talk."

"People already talk. You should hear what Mrs Hudson has been saying." Somehow he really didn't want to know. It was better for his mind.

He found himself grinning along with Sherlock but it didn't last.

The red dots were back and as he heard Jim's voice the feeling of his imminent death was back with a vengeance.

"Sorry boys. I'm so changeable! It is a weakness to me but to be fair with myself, it is my only weakness."

He was going to die and the man was talking again. "You can't be allowed to continue. Just can't. I would try to convince you but everything I'm going to say has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock looked at him and he could tell exactly what the man was going to do. It was one of those moments where they completely connected. He nodded. They could do this.

"And probably my answer has crossed yours."

As the gun lowered towards the jacket he could see that Jim hadn't considered that. He could see the denial in the man's eyes. The smirk, as if to say go on then.

He saw the twitch of Sherlock's hands and leapt forward. The gunshot rang through the air as he collided with Sherlock's side sending them both sprawling. There was a moment of heat and then cold. Cold wetness.

They were sinking down. Behind them all he could see was red and orange and fire. It looked like hell and he was glad of the cold embrace they'd fallen into. They were still for what seemed like a minute before the shock waves hit them.

He'd known from physics all those years before that sound and movement travelled better through air than water. Now he felt it.

There was sudden pressure. They were being pushed, squeezed. He didn't know what was happening as he curled around Sherlock to protect the man. They hit something solid or something hit them, he couldn't tell.

As the world went black all his last thought was that he hoped Sherlock could swim.

_Yep, the swimming pool. It did seem the most likely ending and it was nice to write. Poor John. Everything bad seems to happen to him. _


	13. Hospitals

_Just a little hospital fill. _

He felt like he was floating. Suspended within this vast blackness, just him and his thoughts. It was a familiar feeling. He'd felt like this after the war.

Heat, gun fire and pain filled his senses. It was abstract though. Dulled. He couldn't really connect with anything. He didn't want to leave it.

But his consciousness was pushing onwards. His eyes opened and everything seemed blurred, far away and dream like. He could feel his body but it was still odd. Weightless and floaty.

There was something in his throat. He supposed it was a ventilator and should have hurt but there was just slight discomfort. He knew that there was something wrong with him. That he shouldn't feel that way but as he surrendered himself back to the floating black void John couldn't bring himself to care.

ooo

_Beep...Beep...Beep..._

He opened his eyes and was faced by this sudden over whelming light. Everything seemed to hurt. He didn't know where he was, the last thing he could remember was the swimming pool.

Horror filled him as memories flooded back. They'd been at the swimming pool with Moriarty. And Sherlock. Sherlock had been injured. He'd been hurt. Bleeding.

A small part of him told himself that he wasn't thinking straight as he tried to pull himself in to a sitting position. His whole body was heavy with lack of use. He was stiff and he ached all over. It took all his effort to drag his arms into movement.

Something seemed to be tugging on his hands and arms. It must have been all the machines he was attached to, he could certainly hear all of them working, monitoring, all around him. There was movement at his side. Someone was there but he couldn't quite find the energy to move his head. Everything was so heavy and so hard to move.

As his he felt the exhaustion pulling him back under his head tipped to one side and he could see a pale nose and black curls poking out from a pillow nearby. If he'd had the energy he would have smiled, instead he let his consciousness slip away once again.

Sherlock was alive.

ooo

The next time he opened his eyes he realised he was staring at a ceiling rather than just white. He recognised it from when he'd been shot. A hospital ceiling. They all looked the same and the smell was something he'd never forget no matter how used to it he got in his profession as a doctor.

He felt a little better this time. A little stronger and less tired.

He was probably still high on whatever type of painkiller they had felt the need to give him but he actually felt okay. Although that was very unlikely to last. He could hear all the machines clustered around beeping noisily.

"I have a built a resistance. I need at least twice that dosage!" There was the reassuring indignant cries that signalled that Sherlock was okay.

John pushed himself up into a sitting position to review the room. They were in a small private room, from the presence of a smiling Mycroft in the corner he suspected that it was an actual private hospital.

It was probably needed from the harassed look the three nurses surrounding Sherlock had taken on. This was probably costing twice the normal amount, if not more, purely based on the presence of Sherlock alone.

"Sherlock. Behave."

To his surprise the man appeared to actually calm down, wriggling out from under the nurse who was holding him down to face him.

"John!"

His partner was now sitting up grinning at him. He could practically see the relief on the faces of everyone in the room, minus Mycroft of course but he was sure if the man expressed emotion it would be of relief. It was unlikely that Sherlock would ever listen to the man, in fact he was surprised the men were in the same room without them sniping at each other.

The nurse let out a cry of triumph as she injected whatever it was into his system. He watched the detective slump a bit but remain conscious.

He glared at the three of them. "Told you it wasn't enough." The words were a bit slurred but he was certainly still conscious.

He couldn't help but sigh. This was going to be a very long time stuck in a hospital room with a sociopathic man-child and his power crazy brother. Joy.

ooo

There was no chance of Sherlock ever being considerate. One of the doctors had come in and talked to him. He had broken ribs, a scrape from a stray bullet on his leg and a dislocated shoulder which was requiring a sling.

Yet his lovely partner and supposed lover had decided that he was the only one that could treat the man who was better off with fewer broken limbs and only a sprained wrist. They both had severe bruising but that was to be expected and was being ignored.

"Sherlock you either eat or I'm putting the drip back in."

There was one of the nurses stood by the door to make sure that John didn't fall despite the cane he was once again using, although this was a real injury this time. It all made him eternally glad he'd got dressed into pyjamas straight away rather than staying in the robe like Sherlock.

The man kept flashing him every time he turned over and while the man was gorgeous he really didn't need to see it all the time.

He could see the nurse laughing at him as Sherlock pouted. "Buuuuuttt Joooohhhhnnnn..." The man sounded so much like a child he was tempted to just give him a lolly to shut him up. He'd tried it once and it had worked for all of about ten minutes. Instead he resorted to just sticking the drip in the man's hand and leaving him whining as he hobbled back to the bad. It was a bloody good thing they had him on strong pain killers.

He had a whole minute of relative peace before there was a commotion at the door. He was less than happy to see Lestrade stick his head around the door.

The detective seemed to think it was okay to stroll in smiling at the two of them despite the twin glares he was receiving. "I need to get a statement off of you John. Sherlock gave me his when he woke up."

He sighed and started to replay all the events to the man as he scrambled to copy it down. Most of could be missed out as Sherlock was there but the bits where he was alone having been kidnapped he had to relive.

He was rather surprised when Sherlock's hand settled on his shoulder as he was going through what happened with Jim. Less so when the man got on the bed forcing him to shuffle up and make room for two on what was a single bed. It was rather cute though and reassuring. It was nice.

He could see from Lestrade's smirk that the man found it funny despite the serious nature of what he was saying but he couldn't really bring himself to care.

"Now Sherlock. If I could get you to look at a couple of pictures. Just get what you can give me to work on."

The pictures were snatched from the man's hands. He knew Sherlock was bored and that if it wasn't for the cocktail of drugs his partner had managed to put himself on there would be incidents rather reminiscent of the walls getting shot. As the photos were fanned in front of his face he couldn't help but think that it was a good thing.

"This one. Victim's was on holiday, maybe a week. Come from far away but within Britain. And this one. The murderer is short but boosting their height with platforms to make it look like a taller killer, probably female."

The man was practically bouncing around on the bed, he'd even pulled the drip out...again. He'd never had a patient who was this bad, even the ones who passed out with needle left the bloody drip in, they spent most of it unconscious but the drip remained in.

The grin that saw spreading across his partner's face however probably should have been a warning sign to the two of them. "Triple murder! I've got to see these bodies!"

And with that the man was gone. Hospital gown and all.

Lestrade looked at him rather amused and he just shrugged back. It wasn't like he was going to come back willingly despite his rather alarming lack of clothes.

John picked up his mobile and rang Mycroft. "I'm sure you're watching Sherlock run out of the hospital. Can you get him sent back in here when he gets done for indecent exposure?"

The poor detective was obviously thoroughly confused. John wished he could be so naive but it was never meant to be. He lived with Sherlock.

_The bit about floating is all taken from when I drugged and semi-conscious while I had various sets of teeth pulled out. It's very very strange. _


	14. A Drunken Watson

_Another chapter! I'm on a bit of a roll at the moment. _

Their bed seemed to be especially comfy the afternoon after they'd gotten back from the fortnight long stint in the hospital. He was still tired and rather battered despite the few hours of sleep he'd managed since they'd been discharged and he'd dragged Sherlock to bed back in 221B Baker Street.

His own bed was good. It seemed like forever since he'd last slept in it and even longer since he'd actually managed to stay undisturbed in it for longer than a few hours. He was incredibly comfy, despite the weight pushing him down. Warm, cosy and sleepy.

"Is there something you're not telling me my darling brother."

That voice didn't sound right, nor the words, for Sherlock. Too high pitched and the use of brother was wrong. It registered in his mind that the voice was one he'd grown up with, his sister's voice and he fell out of bed taking his human limpet with him. Their injuries disagreed with this action.

He stared at her incomprehensively. "What are you doing here so early?"

She seemed amused and the fact that he was laying on the floor tangled up in duvet with a sleepy topless Sherlock blinking up from where he'd positioned himself on John's chest. She frowned a little at the state of them both with the numerous bandages they still wore but chose to ignore it.

"Firstly it's not early but late afternoon and secondly you haven't been returning my calls so I came to visit. Your landlady let me in."

He grumbled various profanities which were aimed at the wonderful Mrs Hudson as he untangled himself from duvet and detective. The only thing that made him feel a little better was the concerned comment from his partner as he started to get dressed.

"Should I hide the alcohol?"

ooo

Harry was sat at the kitchen looking an interesting mixture of smug and rather concerned by the various unfinished and abandoned experiments littering the room. There were an assortment of chemicals littering the working surfaces, broken up by the odd appliance and body part.

"Is that really a hand?"

If she'd only noticed the hand then things were going well. There were a lot worse things in the kitchen for her to notice or smell, especially after a fortnight of neglect. He was pretty sure that most of the chemicals were labelled incorrectly.

"Yes. Would you like some tea?"

She nodded and he filled the kettle for three cups. Sherlock would want his caffeine fix.

"I'll get you the milk. Is it in the fridge?"

She of course didn't wait for his reply and was already going to open the fridge door. At least the wasn't anythi...bugger. The head. The severed head was still in the fridge. After a few days he'd gotten used to it but he expected others would be horrified.

The small scream and slamming of the door proved his theory.

"There is a head. There is a head in your fridge. Why is there a head in your fridge?"

"It's an experiment." Floated from the other room. Sherlock must have gotten up then.

He nodded and replied "Something to do with saliva. You get used to it. Sherlock this thing is starting to decompose, I think you need a new one." He'd tried to be comforting but there was still alarm on her face.

"You get used to severed heads?"

"Takes a while but yes. Now, can you pass the milk?"

And life went on in 221B Baker Street despite an unexpected guest.

ooo

"Hot Fuzz! Hot Fuzz!"

"Harry calm down." They'd spent most of the day watching movies, even Sherlock had joined them after a bit of protest and his laptop and both of their phones being threatened.

The door bell rang as Harry over ruled them all, despite being the only one who didn't actually live there, and slipped Hot Fuzz in the DVD player. The person at the door was certainly a surprise.

There stood in their doorway, bottle of wine in hand and with the ever present umbrella was one Mycroft Holmes. He could hear Sherlock's cries to slam the door but the man already had his foot positioned to block it. He did have to wonder how many times his partner had done that to his brother, not that he could blame him really. Mycroft was creepy.

The man flounced into the living room, plonking himself in the only remaining chair. He watched as he and Sherlock exchanged barbed words and Harry watched on in not so well hidden curiosity. He didn't really follow most of the conversation.

Mycroft ended up staying and he spent the next movie glaring at the man as Harry polished off the bottle of wine by herself. The man must have known that she was there and an alcoholic and yet he still brought it.

Despite the presence of their older and less than welcome siblings the night was surprisingly pleasant. Harry was pissed and fast asleep in the chair. Sherlock was curled up with him on the sofa, they'd even found a blanket. Mycroft was surprisingly quiet.

In fact too quiet. He'd been very quiet slumped in the last chair since he'd passed round the drinks earlier in the evening. Drinks that Sherlock had assisted in making. Drinks that he'd been left alone with. And now they had an unconscious Mycroft.

"What did you put in his drink?"

The man was trying to look innocent. With all those dark curls and wide eyes he almost managed it. Almost.

A sharp poke to the ribs was enough to entice an answer from his rather reluctant partner. "Rohypnol."

It was so quiet he nearly didn't hear it. "Rohypnol? As in the date rape drug?"

There was a nod and another failed look of innocence.

"Where did you even get it? Actually don't tell me. I don't want to know." He really truly didn't. It was bad enough that he kept finding random packets of illegal substances all around the flat. He really didn't need to know anything more than the fact Sherlock was clean despite the rather condemning evidence.

It did however leave them with a rather difficult situation. Harry could sleep it off on the sofa but there wasn't any room for Mycroft to stay, not that he was particularly welcome anyway. And John was already sharing his bed with one Holmes, he certainly didn't want a second.

It took only one phone call and ten minutes for the situation to be sorted. There was a car outside. The black one the man used for kidnapping John and his assistant in the back seat. It took a bit of manoeuvring to get the man into the car but minutes later he was gone.

John turned back into the house to find a pair of curious eyes following him.

"You put something in his back pocket."

He nodded. There was no point denying it. "I just left him a note for in the morning."

"What? What?" The man was practically bouncing on his arm filled with glee. It wasn't right for a thirty something year old to be so pleased and child like at pranking their brother.

"It reads _'If you've got my sister pregnant you're paying the upkeep. JW'_"

Delight filled his partner's eyes. "The drugs will have affected his memory. He won't know if he actually slept with your sister. That's brilliant!"

John just nodded and led him up to bed. "And it's revenge for him bringing the wine."

ooo

The following morning he was woken by a phone beeping. One of them had received a message. He reached over for the phone. Sherlock's but he'd gotten so used to using it that it barely made a difference. It was probably sent to both phones anyway to ensure that at least one of them received it.

He almost chuckled as he read the message.

_Mummy will not be pleased to hear you drugged me. MH_

He actually did start to laugh. There sat pinned to the bed by the weight of his partner he had to admit he was rather content. Not exactly domestic but domestic was boring and he didn't think he'd be able to stick boring for long ever again.

The phone beeped again.

_Any upkeep will be dependent on a DNA test. MH_

He couldn't suppress the laughter that bubbled up, waking Sherlock up in the process. He showed the man the messages and they were both rolling about the bed in amusement.

When Mrs Hudson winked at them asking if they'd had a good night he forced himself to suppress the snicker.

Poor Mycroft.

But he really did deserve it.

_This came into my head a while ago and I really couldn't resist writing it. I can totally see Sherlock doing this. _


	15. Double Murders

_Sorry this took so long. It was a very difficult chapter to write but it's needed._

After the incident at the hospital he had assumed that it would be a while before they saw Lestrade again. The man had certainly come away from it looking rather traumatised, he probably was traumatised. But it appeared that long term association with Sherlock had numbed him to such things. He lasted a week and a half before he was back on their door step file in hand.

John was almost tempted to turn the detective inspector away. They weren't fully healed and he really didn't want Sherlock running around causing his usual brand of chaos. It was only the man's look of pure desperation and his partner's boredom that got him past the door. The walls wouldn't be able to take it if there wasn't something to entertain Sherlock soon.

As the file was spread across their living room floor he was beginning to regret his decision.

It was the double murder serial killings that had been on the news recently. They'd been going on for two month or so, maybe longer, and the police were still without any clues. Despite Sherlock's condescending attitude even he would admit that that was a rare thing.

There were photos showing the six murder scenes. They were all the same despite the glaring differences.

All were single sex couples. All in their own house. There was little sign of struggle so they had invited the killer in. They had all had a hair placed on them which the police were yet to get a match with, two different hairs for each victim but all form the same two people. All with a hole in their hearts from a bullet.

They'd been happening up and down the country. A doctor and accountant in Cardiff. Shop assistant and a healthcare worker in Sheffield. A pair of nurses in Leeds. A hospital porter and manager in South Hampton. A student and mechanic in Oxford. A cleaner and dietician in London.

He could see a pattern forming there.

"Was the student studying medicine?"

Lestrade looked up at him rather quickly. "Yes." There was definitely a pattern there.

At least one in every couple had a connection to the medical profession. He passed the list of their careers to his partner and saw understanding as he saw it instantly, then cross referencing it with whatever he was reading.

John felt rather proud that he had worked something out before Sherlock. The dazzling smile that was sent his way started the butterflies in his stomach fluttering.

He wasn't really sure what the feeling was but he wanted to get it again. He'd do almost anything to have that smile sent in his direction. It felt so good.

As they left the flat the man pressed a kiss to his cheek and John didn't think that he could get any happier than he currently was.

ooo

The feeling still hadn't gone away as he watched Sherlock prance past the rather unimpressed police forces and into the scene of the latest murder. The cleaner and the dietician.

Although for once it wasn't Sherlock that was getting second looks but him. He realised he was probably still grinning like a lunatic. On the scene of a vicious double murder, especially one which was part of some serial killings, it would have looked incredibly inappropriate and a tad suspicious.

He was getting as bad as Sherlock.

Most people would have been worried about a sociopath, no matter how high functioning, rubbing off on them but John really couldn't bring himself to mind. After getting used to the head in the fridge it really wasn't surprising.

He could almost feel the gazes following him as he followed the equally gleeful detective into the crime scene. His grin however was quickly rendered none existent as he looked over the murder scene while his partner's only widened.

Lestrade stood watching as Sherlock circled the two bodies. It looked exactly like the photo and the photos of all the other victims.

They were both female. One tall and dark haired with frown lines surrounding her now slack and lifeless eyes. The other shorter and very thin with golden hair and a face that looked like it was always smiling.

They almost looked like they were both asleep on the bed, like they'd just lain down and died. If it wasn't for the matching red marks blossoming from directly over the hearts of them both he would have almost been able to believe that they were about to open their eyes, get up and say it was all a mistake.

He felt slightly sick at the way his partner was circling around them but there was still this overwhelming pride in the fact that he knew the man would be able to find who killed them and give them the justice they no doubt deserved.

"The blond was the dietician, the brunette the cleaner." Lestrade nodded even though they both knew it wasn't really a question but an observation.

"They were dragged if the wrinkling of their clothing is right. Not killed in this position but positioned later. So the killer must be used to physical work. Tragectory suggests they were all of fairly equal height so sat down hiding the killers height."

"The killer had their trust. No sign of a struggle they let them in and trusted that they were safe. Limits it down to government agencies and the emergency services. Probably emergency services from the physical work required to drag them. If it had been a friend then even you would have found a link by now."

Lestrade looked slightly insulted but he couldn't help but think that the man really should be used to it after five years.

"So it's not personal...or it is but not targeted at these specific people. Shooting them in the heart would suggest a spurned lover, maybe one who has had a sexuality crisis and left them from someone else. But that doesn't feel right. Like it's made to look like that. Too impersonal. If it was a lover out for revenge they would have gone straight for the pair instead of all these killings."

"The hair and the common occupation would suggest that it's targeted at two specific people so they are probably a warning. The killer wants to scare the people it's aimed at. Probably hair from those people. Have you run it through the database?"

Lestrade nodded again.

The man rocked back and forward on the balls of his feet. "Ohhhhh..."

And with that he was gone, the door shuddering behind. He sighed and shared an exasperated look with the detective inspector before he set off after his crazy partner.

ooo

"Sherlock!"

The man went round another two corners and down a narrow alley into a little courtyard before he slowed down.

"Come on, John. We need to get home!"

"Couldn't we get a cab? It's bloody miles!"

The man looked at him like he was stupid. "Takes too long. I need to go test this." He was waving a plastic bag around. One that John realised contained the hairs from the crime scene. "These! These are the key to everything!"

He didn't know how it happened or really when. One minute he was stood in front of his partner and the next there was the feel of a wall at his back and a body pushed flush to his own, hands holding him in place.

His mind had gone blank. He didn't know what was happening, only that the detective, his partner, was pinning him to a wall staring at him.

His eyes were drawn to the man's lips and as they got too close for him to see his eyes. His beautiful, beautiful eyes.

As lips pressed against his, gentle and hesitant at first and then demanding, it struck him that he truly cared for the man. He wasn't pretending to be the man's lover anymore, on his part at least it was genuine.

In that second the rest of the world didn't exist. It was just him and Sherlock.

Then the lips disappeared and the world swam back into focus. The man was stepping away from him. Wiping his lips and glancing back down the alley they'd come along.

"That should get rid of the tail Mycroft set on us. We should be rid of them for an hour or two. Now off to Bart's."

Everything seemed to come crashing down. He might have loved the sociopath but it obviously wasn't reciprocated and for the first time he didn't think that he could take it anymore. For once doctor John Watson walked away from something.

He watched Sherlock's back as he disappeared round a corner and turned his back.

ooo

It took him minutes to pick up everything he needed from 221B Baker Street. Just a bag of medicines and medical necessities. He wouldn't need anything else.

He locked the door. Posted the keys through the letter box and walked away.

ooo

It took Sherlock till the following afternoon to realise that John wasn't coming back.

_Please don't kill me. This is not the end but it needed to be written. I promise a bit of humour in the next chapter...honest!_


	16. Press Conference

_It's been a busy week. Sorry if the ending is a tad odd, I am ill and have taken what is probably far too many cold remedies. _

With the influence of Mycroft on the police it really didn't surprise him that within a week there was a full blown London wide search for him. He supposed that it was his own fault for making sure that he'd lost Mycroft's men, the homeless were surprisingly resourceful and after treating a number of them loyal to him over both of the Holmes brothers and their associates.

In fact between all of his ever increasing network of patients he had quite a little intelligent web set up. It had taken only a visit to Jane to explain the situation and he'd been smuggled out of the flat and was half way across London before those looking for him realised.

And it was certainly an experience hoping from flat to flat. He'd spent the week in a mixture of the homes of prostitutes, burglars, hackers, fraudsters, transvestites and even a fellow ex-serviceman who had a fear of hospitals and clinics.

As he stood at the edge of the press conference asking for information about his whereabouts he had to admit that the week had certainly been educational, even if the heels were killing his feet at that moment.

His sister was crying hysterically into the camera talking about how close they were and how much she wanted him to come back. He was tempted to text saying only if she gave up the drinking but it seemed unlikely to happen.

Mycroft was stood at one side looking over the crowd. The man had of course known he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of being there in person. He did however note the effectiveness of Mark's, one of the transvestites he'd stayed with, outfit as the man clever as he was had still to notice John.

When Harry was dragged off the podium and Lestrade started talking about how much Sherlock missed him even if he couldn't make it to the conference he almost gave himself away.

The temptation just to shout how wrong the man was, that their relationship had been entirely fake and that the detective had never even cared for him, was almost too great. Instead he picked up his new phone, payment for his medical services and probably stolen, and used a new skill he'd picked up from his hacker patients.

The chimes of text messages being received rang throughout the room as a single word appeared on everyone's screens.

_Wrong._

He saw Mycroft frantically glancing around to try and identify who he was out the corner of his eye and popped his phone out of sight.

Lestrade looked rather concerned, probably presuming it was from Sherlock and not him. He started to talk about how they had their best people working on it when another chorus of rings cried out.

_Wrong. _

This time not typed by him but his obnoxious idiotic ex-flatmate. He didn't have the self control to stop him typing a reply.

_Right. Previous sender is a pompous idiotic child with an over blown ego. _

The entire room seemed to be gawking at their phones. He supposed most people didn't have an argument like this but then they'd never been normal.

_I am not idiotic like yourself and the masses._

He found he was grounding his teeth. Not exactly a good sign when he was trying to keep calm and not be found out by Mycroft.

_Says the man in his thirties who didn't know the earth went round the sun. _

There were a few laughs from the room. Probably from people who didn't take that text as serious.

_It's unimportant!_

An old argument but this time with actual hostility. There was a coldness in his chest as he thought of all the times they'd jokingly said almost the same words.

_It's primary school education. _

There was a pause before the next set of dials.

_Says the army doctor who let himself get shot and strapped in a bomb jacket. _

The room seemed to go silent as if they too sensed that the detective had crossed an invisible line too far. His fingers moved jabbing the keys and the message was sent before it registered in his mind. He was so hurt by the previous statement.

_I would rather be in a room with Moriarty than you. The drugs are in the bottom of the toaster. _

He was sure by now he was glaring and giving himself away. The people surrounding him were shooting him concerned glances and Mycroft was staring directly at him but the police were as usual completely ignorant. In fact Sally seemed both concerned and over joyed at the last bit. He suspected there would be a drugs bust within the next day or so if not in a couple of hours.

It was probably a good thing that the press conference came to a rather rapid close at the end of their rather public and probably televised argument. He stood to the side to let the others leave.

The room was almost empty when he went up to Sally and Lestrade at the front. One of the other police men was going to turn him away but an explanation that he had a message from Doctor Watson got him access.

The pair seemed rather surprised by the plump long haired woman that approached them. It hadn't taken much explaining to a few of his new associates about what he wanted to do and the next thing they were attaching him with makeup and skirts and heels.

They'd hidden his muscular physique with padding, making him seem a few stones heavier and adding curves in the appropriate places. Then a blouse in a nice turquoise and grey to the knee skirt with heels to disguise his height and walk, even if he had fallen over the first time he put them on. To top it all off a long black wig that they pulled into a professional bun and more makeup than he ever thought he'd wear.

Despite the time it took in preparation and the mild humiliation and embarrassment of playing doll for a tirade of people he had to admit that he results were impressive. He certainly didn't look like himself.

Lestrade looked rather confused by his presence and Sally smiled encouragingly at him, probably some female bonding thing.

"Doctor Watson wanted you to know that he isn't coming back." They looked rather stunned at his statement. He was rather proud of the voice; it took a lot of practice to get it the right pitch.

"What? Why?"

"He said that he could no longer put up with his uncaring bastard of an ex-flatmate."

He smiled at them pausing only as he passed Mycroft. "Just to let you know that if any of your people harass my girls again they will be returned with a bullet through their foreheads."

He could almost see why Moriarty enjoyed being a criminal so much, it was fun to make threats and see people's shocked expressions. From the stony look on Mycroft's face it was clear that he understood the seriousness of the threat.

He felt rather empowered as he strode out of the room calling over his shoulder. "If you follow me, I will be out of London by the end of the day and will not be returning. See you later darling." He even blew a kiss at the man.

The confused and rather shocked look on everyone else's faces was too good to miss and he found himself dissolving into chuckles as he rounded the corner and strode out of the building, something that gained him a few more worried glances.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was a complete homicidal arsehole who'd probably try to kill him any way he'd have been tempted to contact good old Jim and ask if he'd like some assistance. Causing a bit of chaos and threatening people was fun he could see why the consulting criminal did it.

Still he needed to get back to the basement and his feet were killing him. Perhaps next time he'd wear smaller heels.

_Even if I am ill this was fun to write. Although I'm pretty sure it shouldn't be this hard to concentrate on a computer screen, so please excuse the blatant typos, my mind is working a few words ahead of my fingers at the moment. _


	17. Found and Surprises

_Enjoy!_

In the next three days he calmed down a bit. Not enough to talk to Sherlock but enough to admit that he may have started to act a little...over emotional. That he may have reacted rather badly and that he really should excuse his behaviour, threatening Mycroft aside because he really had meant that one even if he wouldn't usually say it.

If he was really _really_ honest with himself then he would admit that he may have been acting a little bit overly dramatic very much like the Holmes brothers, but he wasn't so that thought remained very well buried.

Still he'd managed to calm down enough that when Lestrade appeared on the door step he didn't immediately slam the door in the man's face. He did rather suspect that his presence was Mycroft's doing and that any attempts of escape would be rapidly stopped with a laser light trained on a vital spot.

Perhaps threatening the man hadn't been the best idea in the world, or the safest.

As it was Lestrade managed to get through the door and into the hall way before John turned his back and ignored the DI.

He thought the gesture of only making a single cup of tea made the message that the DI was unwelcome rather clear. Evidently this was ignored as the man grabbed his shoulder and forced him into facing the man. He really was lucky that John had enough control of his body not to react with the military self defence that was drilled into his muscles.

"You need to come back."

"No." He shoved the man away to make his point clearer and strode out of the room to settle on the chair with his tea. The people he was staying with that day were out pick pocketing at that moment and wouldn't be back for a few hours so he had a while to get rid of the DI.

"Sherlock misses you."

He snorted. That was one thing he severely doubted. The detective was incapable of such emotions as his claims of being a high functioning sociopath showed.

"No."

A hand grabbed his shoulder, pinning him to the chair as Lestrade stood over him. "You need to come back."

It took only a well placed kick and the man was on the floor. Lestrade may have been a police man but he was an ex-soldier and far better equipped for physical violence. It took only a foot positioned over the man's wind pipe for him to stop trying to get up. They both knew that enough pressure down and the wind pipe would collapse killing the DI.

John wouldn't normally have been so cruel but the man was not only trying to force him back but he'd grabbed his injured shoulder. He let the man sweat for a minute or so before moving back.

The DI was eyeing him wearily now, evidently just remembering that he was a soldier, but there was a desperate light in his eyes. "The serial killer. The one who's work you went to see."

He found himself nodding.

"We think they're targeting you and Sherlock. The darker hair matched Sherlock and we're sure the lighter one will match you."

Again he nodded. Worrying but he could see where this was going.

"Sherlock thought that the killings were a warning. We need to take you into protective custody to keep the pair of you safe."

He could see the man was hopeful.

"No."

He could see the startled look and the disbelief that he was refusing. "But they're threatening your life. There is a serial killer out there targeting you."

"One that won't find me. After all it wasn't the police that knew where I was. Mycroft told you."

The man seemed to want to disagree. "I don't know who that is but we had an anonymous tip about your location."

He just looked at the naive DI.

"Mycroft is Sherlock's brother. He is the one that told you. If you couldn't find me how do you think some serial killer would?"

The man seemed like he was about to argue when the door slammed open.

"Doc! Shifty got himself stabbed! Could do with some help here!"

John was out of the room and down the corridor before Lestrade could react. As he came back in with a bleeding young woman in his arms he simply sent the DI a look, clearly dismissing him as he cleared the table and laid the girl down to treat her.

ooo

Hours later as changed Shifty's bandages he couldn't help but curse the DI and Mycroft for meddling in the new life he had set up for himself, even if it was supposedly for his own safety.

He'd only just found the note that the man had left behind for him and it had opened unwelcome feelings which were pushing him to return to Baker Street, feeling that were warring and starting to win against the hurt he felt.

He had to check that he hadn't pulled them too tight in his frustration.

Minutes later he had it open again and in his hand, folding down the creases in his worry as he read back through it.

_You need to return. Sherlock has not moved from the settee, eaten or drunk in what must be now a week. He has refused to help us with the serial killer case. I've had to leave Sally at the flat to ensure he isn't a suicide risk. Whatever has happened between you he regrets it. He needs you. _

It was so short and so worrying. It took him till one in the morning to decide what to do and another half an hour to get to the other side of London to the flat.

ooo

When he got there the lights were off. There was a not on her door reading that Mrs Hudson was away at her sisters till the following day but if Sally was there like Lestrade claimed then the lights should have been on upstairs.

He drew the gun from his waist band, checking his newly acquired knives were in place, as he walked as silently as possible up the stairs. Nudging the door open it took him seconds to see that the flat was deserted, even without the lights on the general light pollution of London gave him enough to see by.

It wasn't till he flicked the lights on though that he realised what was wrong.

Not only was Sherlock gone but the flat was in a state. This wasn't the usual supposedly organised chaos it was maintained in but wreckage. There had been a struggle.

If the torn pit of dressing gown wasn't enough of an indication then the note pinned to the wall with a hunting knife that the detective had 'liberated' from a crime scene was.

He grabbed it, being careful not to tear the paper as he pulled the knife out of the wall to liberate the note.

_If you want Sherlock Holmes back come to the church on Holburn viaduct. _

He stared at the note and blinked. Where the hell was Holburn viaduct? The taxi driver better bloody know or the detective was screwed.

A small part of his brain was telling him that he wasn't supposed to care about what happened to the man but it went unnoticed.

ooo

It was dark when he got there. There was slight light glowing in the windows of the church but the place looked rather creepy, even if from the messages outside it was no longer a church but now a conference room.

The door pushed open and he walked through and into the church. It was mostly dark, the shadows stretched into distorted monstrous shapes. There was a little light, a few candles at the front around the platform for speakers. There, lying within the little circle of light was a dark lump laid curled up on the floor.

His heart started to race as he shot towards the lump, towards Sherlock.

He rolled the man over.

"John..."

It sounded so pathetic and the glazed, drugged, look in his eyes broke John's heart all over again. "Didn't think you'd come."

The man gripped his arm. It was so tight. So reassuring. He felt tears running down his cheeks as he hugged the man, pulling him tight against him. "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay..."

He couldn't think of anything else to say.

He heard the door open and pulled the man into a sitting position behind him. The detective was in no position to protect himself from whoever had kidnapped him.

As he pointed his gun at the pair he couldn't believe who it was. Sally and Anderson walked through. Sally even seemed excited. She grinned at them and then turned to Anderson. "You were right! Just what they needed to get back together again!"

His mind seemed to stop for a moment. They'd done all of this to get them him back. They'd kidnapped and drugged Sherlock for something like that. It was unbelievable and somehow not.

He lowered the gun and Sally staggered forward. The red that was spreading from her stomach didn't tally in her brain until he was on his back and the gun was out of his hands.

_That church actually does exist, I had a conference there. It is cold and the seats are wooden and horrible. And I got lost. No one knows where Holborn viaduct is. No one. I spent almost an hour wondering round in the cold looking for it before a teacher came to rescue me. Not fun._

_Hence why it seemed like a good place for a confrontation. It's already hated (by me at least). It makes me almost sad that this is almost at the end. :(_


	18. Churches and Serial Killers

_I feel evil for making the previous ending purposely misleading. Enjoy!_

Time seemed to stop as he slumped back, Anderson standing in front of him, kicking the gun away and pointing his own at John. He hadn't pulled the trigger. He hadn't done that to Sally. His gun hadn't even been pointing in her direction at the time.

It was Anderson.

The very concept seemed strange in his mind. This man, the one that was constantly being belittled and put down by Sherlock, rightfully so in many cases had just shot his mistress. Surely this man couldn't have fooled them all.

"She didn't hate him enough. Called him a freak but it didn't have any real bite to it. She was useful though."

_He_ smiled at her, crouching to stroke her hair in a twisted lover's caress before yanking her up by it and driving the butt of the gun to her temple. John watched as her eyes rolled back and the doctor in him hoped that they blow wasn't too hard and that the blow wouldn't finish off what the gunshot wound had started.

He knew it was odd but he felt sympathy for her. She had been manipulated by someone she had thought liked, if not loved, her. She had thought she was helping them as stupid and idiotic as the plan, if it had been a real plan, had been.

Sherlock moved slightly in his arms and he pulled the man even closer. He wasn't anything near coherent, whatever they had given him was strong.

"So lovely. You keep on protecting him, even though he'll be the death of you." Realisation hit. The killings, they'd been a warning.

Anderson was the serial killer.

"Why...why did you do it? Kill all those people?"

"He always loved putting me down. Making out that he was better than me. I might not have the brains but I was more of a doer, more like you John. "

The smile was rather disturbing.

"Of course I knew I couldn't outsmart him on my own but I was linked up with people. There was a certain person who made it possible. Planned it all out. All I had to do was the actual killing. It was easy enough to borrow Sally's warrant card and edit it. Simple really. Did you like the hairs? My idea, nicked your hairbrush in one of the raids, luckily for me you both used it."

There was nausea in John's throat. He knew exactly who it was. The same person it always was in the background pulling the strings.

"Why so many? So many innocent people?" He almost wished that Sherlock was more with it so he didn't have to ask the questions, so that they could equal the playing field. Killers never were his forte.

"Them? Make it harder to link it to us, you'd just seem like another couple. Besides my...sponsor...he wanted the warning. Called it a game. I was happy to oblige as long as I got my result. Sherlock dead."

He could feel the injustice. So many people dead just to satisfy a need to strive off a man's boredom and to fulfil the sick desires of another. He felt sick.

"And now?"

He knew what was coming. He knew what the man was going to do, just like he'd done to all those other victims. Anderson was going to kill them.

There was adrenaline flooding his system as he looked around, frantic for something to defend them with. The gun was too far away to reach. It took him a minute to remember the knives he'd hidden away within his clothing.

A dangerous thing to have when the opposition had a gun but it felt reassuring in his hand.

He laid Sherlock down behind him, moving as little as possible so his intentions weren't clear. As soon as the detective was securely on the floor he shifted his weight, preparing himself.

Anderson took a step forward, the gun pointed towards him and by default Sherlock behind him. It was only a step but he was close already. His legs uncoiled as he surged forwards knocking the man's arm off course.

The gun fired but the bullets hit the wall far off to their right side.

John felt the give as the knife sliced through the man's upper arm and the pull as it snagged in fabric and was wrenched from his hands when it stopped and he carried on with the momentum of his leap.

He heard the sound of steel colliding with wood as he wrestled Anderson for the gun. If he would get hold of it then he'd have the advantage. He would be able to get them both out of their alive.

It wasn't meant to be.

For all his military training he was wounded and shorter than the man. The gun was kept well out of his reach by longer arms and he pinned below the man. He fought to get free but the weakness in his shoulder and the pain made it impossible.

He was trapped and he was going to die. More importantly he had failed to protect Sherlock. It didn't matter how the detective felt about him. He loved Sherlock and the thought of him getting hurt, of him dying, tore him up inside.

"I'll start with you then, seeing as you're so resistant."

There wasn't a bed and it wasn't in their flat, making their murder different from the others but even he could see the parallels. There were even some blankets and pillows laid out on the dais to make it look like a bed.

"I'll be the one to find you here of course. I'll be looking for Sally. I walk in on her killing you and knock her out but it'll already be too late. She'll say the truth but no one will believe her. Now say good bye to your dearest Sherlock."

He felt sick.

He stared up the barrel of the gun, up at Anderson. Not exactly the last sight he'd wanted to see before he died. Familiar thoughts were whirling around his head. The same thoughts he'd had when the bullet had sliced through his shoulder in Afghanistan. Don't let him die. Let him live. But there were new thoughts.

His survival instincts were being overcome by gladness that he might die but maybe Sherlock had a chance and the slightly more morbid thought that they would die together. It almost seemed nice in his head, the two of them dying together.

He could see the man's align the barrel to his chest, aiming directly over his heart. He could see as Anderson's finder started to curl. Tensing as it prepared to pull the trigger and end his life. He shut his eyes in preparation.

If he was going to die he would do so standing tall. He would not beg for his life.

Bang.

Noise rushed to his ears and he tensed. The world seemed to be very still. It seemed peaceful and it didn't hurt. Perhaps dying wasn't so bad.

A gurgling gasp cut through his silence and it took a few moments for him to realise that it wasn't him making the noise. Even more to realise that he was not only alive but apart from the bruises from his scramble to get the gun he was unhurt.

As he opened his eyes he could see where the noise had come from.

Anderson stood in front of him, red blossoming across his chest, a look of confusion on his face as he looked down it. He was trying to speak but it came out as a wet gurgle.

He watched in morbid fascination as the gun slipped from the man's fingers hitting the ground followed seconds later by Anderson's body.

There knelt on the ground behind him was Sherlock. Relief flooded him as he stared into the detective's, his partner's, sharp eyes. All traces of the drug were gone and he never thought he'd been so relived as he was in that second.

He felt his body give out as his knees hit the floor and watched as Sherlock strode forward, wrapping him up in his warm, protective embrace.

"John. John. John. I missed you John. Missed you so much."

The man was mumbling into his hair, pulling him tight and he didn't think he'd ever been happier.

"I love you John."

Now he'd never been happier.

It took him far too long to come back to his senses so he even remembered that Sally was lying there dying. It had been a none lethal wound but she could still bleed out.

He wasn't sure how long until police, ambulances and Mycroft arrived but it seemed like no time at all. One moment he was stemming Sally's bleeding and the next sharing a shock blanket with Sherlock as they were bundled into Mycroft's car, promises of statements the next day given.

As they pulled up at Baker Street it seemed like the best place in the world.

_One more chapter and the end. :( I feel so sad that this is ending. But at least there is a happy ending._


	19. Discussions and Legalitites

_Final chapter! It feels like forever since I started. _

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was warmth. He hadn't been this warm in weeks, kipping on people's sofas and spare beds were not this luxurious to say the least. And then he remembered.

He remembered all of the previous night. Of checking on Sherlock. Of finding him kidnapped. Of going to the church. Of nearly dying. But most of all of Sherlock saying he loved him. It brought a warmth to his chest, something he couldn't quite describe and a need to find the man.

It wasn't until he tried to shift that he realised that he'd already found him.

John wasn't sure entirely how it was possible but the detective had managed to curl himself entirely around John. He didn't just mean the usual sprawl over him, even spooning didn't seem enough to describe it.

When he'd moved the detective had gripped tighter in on him. And he could feel limbs everywhere. A chest against his back. Legs curving around his sides to lock in front and keep his legs in their foetal position. Arms clutching his chest in place. Head positioned so there was a chin on the top of his head.

There was no wonder he was so bloody warm. Sherlock was practically acting like a heated blanket wrapped around him. But he couldn't bring himself to really mind.

"Sherlock."

The breathing he could feel blowing through his hair didn't change but from the slight squeeze he felt showed that his partner was awake.

"We need to talk."

There was a mumble above his head. It took him a few minutes to decipher the negative reply. He couldn't even really bring himself to really argue the point. He was so warm and so comfy he didn't want to move.

It wasn't long until the heat and the feel of Sherlock's heart beat against his back lulled him back to sleep.

ooo

As he sat on the sofa in his own clothes, he'd been borrowing other people's for the last week or so, and a cup of tea in hand he couldn't suppress the content smile which crept up onto his face.

It had taken him half an hour to convince Sherlock to release him long enough to get out of bed and to his great amusement he noted that the man hadn't let him out of his sight the entire time. Then as soon as he'd sat down he found a head on his lap. It was rather amusing.

"Sherlock. Are you ready to talk?"

His eyes fluttered open and looked up at him. "Yes."

It was a such a small sound that he almost didn't hear it. His hand moved on its own as it moved to run his fingers through the unruly mop of curls on his lap. If he didn't know better he'd have said that Sherlock purred.

"Did you mean it?"

He could feel the tensing of the detective's body as he said the words. The eyes were open again and looking at him seriously, a rather funny look considering his current position.

"I...did."

"And now?"

"Yes." He could see the emotions behind the man's eyes as he thought it through, him incredible mind unable to help him with the emotions.

"And before then."

"...yes."

Silence set in as he continued to stroke the man's hair. A hand came up to halt his fingers. "I do not handle emotions well. I think I loved you...but it was new...I didn't know, not until you left. I didn't know what to do when you weren't coming back. I couldn't concentrate. Couldn't work. Couldn't think. I knew Sally had drugged the water but I drank it anyway. I just wanted the feelings to stop for a bit."

John turned the hand over in his.

"I'm here now."

He could see the determination in Sherlock's eyes. "And you're not going away again. Ever."

He didn't even bother to point out the impracticality to Sherlock, he knew it would have no effect. Instead he just nodded and took a sip of tea. It was best to humour the detective, after all he'd like to get a bit of privacy back before the man felt the need to follow him into the shower.

Somehow he thought the man would probably do it anyway.

ooo

Lestrade turned up late in the afternoon. He brought a tape recorder along and various official forms so he could take their statements in Baker Street without dragging them down to the station. It was probably a good thing because John knew Sherlock would have out right refused.

He really hadn't wanted there to be a confrontation between the two men, especially as Sherlock had shot Anderson dead. While it would probably be passed off as self defence in a court, which it was, they really should have been looking at least at a charge for the illegal possession of a firearm. If not worse.

The DI raised an eyebrow as Sherlock settled on the sofa next to him, arms around his waist but John chose to ignore it. He was becoming rather used to the supposed sociopath's newly found affection and had to admit that it was rather nice.

The interview all went rather well until it came to the part of Sherlock shooting Anderson. As it turned out John had been right and while it was classed as self defence the fact that they'd, or he'd, been carry an unlicensed gun on the streets could not be ignored.

Lestrade gave him this overly sympathetic look. He realised that the DI obviouslywasn't aware of how many people he'd shot to keep Sherlock safe but it was best unmentioned, especially as he was being asked to go down to the police station.

They'd managed to get half way through him being cautioned when Mycroft walked in. He had to admit this was the first time Sherlock had even looked remotely happy to see his brother, the incident of drugging him excluded.

"I do think you'll want to stop that now Detective Inspector Lestrade." He didn't think he'd ever seen Lestrade so surprised. "After all you would be arresting two of MI5's highest ranked agents."

John had to be hearing this wrong. "Highest ranked...what?"

"MI5 agent."

Then again Mycroft _was_ a Holmes.

He was almost grateful for Lestrade's stuttering as it stopped him doing exactly the same. Sherlock, unflappable bugger as he was, seemed to be taking it all in his stride. Although he'd probably just worked it out.

"An early Christmas present. After all I can't have you arrested, who would stop Sherlock causing trouble."

The warning growl got Mycroft back onto the point.

"Anyway, you are now high level agents of MI5 working independently, entitling you to carry firearms. It's back dated to the day I first kidnapped you John." He could practically hear the creepy smiley face at the end of the comment.

Sometimes Mycroft scared him more than Moriarty. Still at least he wasn't going to prison. And he could carry his gun legally. Reluctantly it had to be the best (early) present he'd ever got, even if it did come from someone he found slightly disturbing.

ooo

Hours later they were back on the sofa, watching crap telly with Sherlock shouting the answers and plots out. They'd got through six different movies and Sherlock had guessed the plot to them all, it really did amaze John.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched Sherlock watch the telly. He was so beautiful, if a little clingy still.

The break came on and Sherlock turned to face him, catching him watching. John felt his breath catch at the smile the man gave him. They were suddenly very close and getting even closer. He wasn't sure who was moving but he could feel Sherlock's breath against his face.

Heat flushed through his body as the arms already around his waist pulled him closer until they were pressed against each other. He felt almost overcome by the sensation.

Their lips touched and it felt like the world ended leaving just the two of them in their own existence.

This time when Sherlock pulled away it was only to pull John towards their bed.

_Finished!_

_Hope you've enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I've considered doing a sequel eventually, although not until I settle in at uni. What do people think? If you say yeas then what would you like to see in it?_


End file.
